Rickard never knew how to handle you, his only daughter. His wife died shortly after giving birth to his youngest son Benjen, and left a widower, he did not know what to do with you, how to raise you. That's why most of the time you were raised by a septa who made you sew, which you didn't like at all.

And yet, even so, you created a lot of problems, just like Brandon, his heir in your younger years: stealing alcohol that was left on holiday, riding a horse deep into the woods without warning anyone in Winterfell.

And now you've also done something stupid, which was reported to your father. You stole a bow from the training ground in order to practice yourself away from prying eyes.

He was looking at you with his steel-gray eyes. There was disappointment and anger in them, and yet he never raised his voice to you. He believed that your wolf blood would settle down and in adulthood you would settle down and calm down.

"Why did you steal the bow from the training ground, daughter?" He asks out of curiosity, but there was only coldness in his voice. He was the lord of the entire North and could not show weakness even in front of his own beloved daughter.

After a few seconds, he only sighed languidly, adding the following:

"Your wolf blood will take you to your grave too soon. Mark my words, daughter."