The order came three days after the latest sighting.
Ned called Elias to the solar, where Benjen leaned against the mantel, arms folded.
"Another hunter claims to have seen one of these 'winged hares,'" Ned said without preamble. "Too many accounts now to dismiss as snow-madness. I want you to ride with your uncle and see if there's truth to it."
Elias kept his expression still. "You think there is?"
"I think the North doesn't need another mystery the South can use against us," Ned said.
Catelyn wasn't present, but Elias could imagine her voice — A lord's home should not keep secrets from its lady.
Benjen straightened. "We leave at first light. Dress for three days out."
The next morning, Winterfell was still half-asleep when they rode out under a bruised-purple sky. Their horses' breath steamed in the cold, and the snow squeaked under the hooves.
Benjen was a quiet traveling companion, speaking only to point out signs — a fox crossing, a raven overhead. "The forest is always talking," he said once. "You just need to learn how to listen without expecting it to shout."
Elias nodded, filing the words away.
They passed through stands of pine heavy with snow, the branches bowing low over the path. Beyond the treeline, the land opened into a white expanse dotted with scrub and ice-slick boulders. The stillness was absolute; even the crows were silent.
By midday, they reached a ridge. Benjen drew up his horse and dismounted. "There," he said, pointing to the snow near the base.
Elias followed him down. The print was small — not quite a hare's, not quite a bird's. The leading edge was deep, as if something had pushed off hard. But where there should have been a landing print a few feet away, the snow was untouched.
Benjen crouched, brushing frost from the mark. "Small enough to be prey, strong enough to leap high. And it didn't come back down — at least not here."
"Could've been wind," Elias offered.
Benjen shot him a sidelong glance. "You think I don't know the difference between drift-scour and a clean takeoff?"
Elias didn't answer. Instead, he walked a slow circle, eyes scanning for other signs. A feather would be too much to hope for, but a bent blade of grass, a scuff in the snow — those could give him away. He quietly brushed over a faint indentation with his boot before Benjen's eyes caught it.
They followed the trail for another hour before it veered toward a slope Elias knew well. At the base, he paused. "I'll check the northern edge," he said. "You circle from the south — meet in the middle."
Benjen nodded, heading off without suspicion.
The moment he was out of sight, Elias slipped through a narrow gap between two snow-coated boulders and into the sheltered hollow beyond.
The hare-hawks were waiting. The male stood closest, slightly larger than his mate, his fur a deeper grey mottled with black along the wings. The female, lighter in both build and color, was positioned behind him.
And she was swollen. Not in the heavy, dragging way of illness — this was life. Her belly carried a roundness new since his last visit.
Elias crouched, heart quickening. "So you've been ranging far," he murmured. "Not for mischief — for nesting."
The male kept his body angled between her and the open hollow, feathers bristled slightly, golden eyes fixed on him until the female gave a short, soft chirr. At that, he eased, stepping aside just enough for Elias to approach.
Elias offered dried meat from his pouch, placing the pieces so the male took each one and passed it to the female. She ate slowly, conserving her strength. The male, in contrast, scanned the hollow's opening between bites.
It was more than instinct. The quartz in their skulls sharpened awareness, yes — but the way they coordinated was deliberate. She groomed the edges of his wings, keeping the flight feathers smooth. He positioned himself so his shadow fell over her, blending her outline with the rocks and snow.
Elias stayed longer than he meant to, studying the subtle differences — the male's wing markings darker, almost like inked bars; the female's mottling softer, broken up with pale streaks that made her vanish against the snow when she crouched. If their young inherited both, they'd be invisible in nearly any winter light.
When he rejoined Benjen, his uncle had found nothing more. But Elias noticed the man's eyes flick once toward the ridge before they mounted up.
That night, they camped in a frozen clearing. The fire was small, more for light than warmth, and the air was thick with woodsmoke.
They weren't alone. A southern knight, Sir Loras Cleyton, had arrived in the hamlet earlier that day and joined them on the road. His stag-clasped cloak marked him as a man in the king's service.
"You're the elder Stark boy?" Cleyton asked over the fire.
"I am," Elias said.
"They say you have eyes like the Wolfswood — always watching. Tell me, have you seen the winged hares for yourself?"
"No," Elias lied easily. "Have you?"
The knight smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Not yet. But I will."
When Benjen and Cleyton settled into conversation about the state of the Night's Watch, Elias slipped away into the dark. He'd gathered moss and dry grass earlier and now carried it under his arm.
The hollow was colder tonight. The female hare-hawk accepted the new nesting material at once, spreading it with precise strokes of her hind legs. The male remained at the entrance, feathers lifted slightly, his eyes never leaving Elias.
When she was satisfied, she settled over the scrape she'd made in the snow, tucking her wings close. The male came to her side and pressed his head briefly against hers before returning to his post.
Elias knelt there for a long moment, his gloved hand resting lightly on the stone. The hollow was secure for now, but if she laid soon, they'd need better shelter — warmer, hidden, and away from any human path.
When he left them, the fire at camp was burning lower. Benjen looked up briefly, then returned to his talk with Cleyton.
Elias lay awake for a long time, the image of the female hare-hawk nesting burned into his mind. The South might be circling already, but for now, in the cold heart of the North, his creations still lived unseen.