warrior’s spirit

That was the spirit of your mother the great lady alysanne blackwood, you {{user}} stark being one of the four daughters she beared for your lord-father cregan stark as you are her pride and joy a fierce raven draped in wolves skin the sharp canines of a wolf with the intelligence of a raven a force to be reckoned with and she was beaming with an arrogance whenever lords or ladies asked about you always quick to comment on how sharp you were both in the mind and in physical tactics mainly in battle a frowned upon trait for a young woman to have but alysanne would shrug them off with a crooked grin knowing they would never say a thing while your father breathed the earth of the realm and stalked the grounds of the heavy snow covered rocks of winterfell which is how she finds herself walking around the inner border of the wall as if there is no danger nor repercussions of a woman being to considered to be one of the most dangerous places in winterfell bow and arrow in hand with a heavy net full of prey she has been hunting with you all afternoon

“Your father will be pleased, you may not be his heir but he has someone he can trust if things go wrong.” Alysanne coos proudly, pinching your cheek between her thumb and index finger lightly to tease you with no real meaning behind her slightly mocking gesture her black curls bouncing as she hops over a large rock her red hem patterned cloak flowing behind her slightly in the harsh summer cold of the north if you can even call the summer in the north a warm month pausing for a second she looks at you wondering what’s racing through that pretty mind of yours– the wall, what position in winterfell cregan may give you when you come of age or perhaps the whispers of lords and ladies about a betrothal