The raven disappeared into the dim northern sky, its black wings swallowed by the deepening twilight. For a long moment Corvyn Ravaryn did not move. His hand rested on the hilt of Nightfeather, fingers curled around the smooth weirwood grip as though the sword itself were the only solid thing in the cold wind.
Below, the courtyard of Ravenhold had already returned to silence.
The twenty men Lord Edrick had sent into the Wolfswood were gone as though the earth had swallowed them. No footprints remained in the packed snow, no stray torchlight flickered beyond the gate. Only the sound of the wind remained—howling softly along the stone towers like some ancient beast pacing the walls.
"You disapprove."
Corvyn did not turn when his father spoke.
"I think," he said carefully, "that twenty men is not enough if the rumors are true."
Lord Edrick leaned slightly against the arrow slit, his grey cloak shifting in the wind. "Rumors," he said quietly, "are smoke. You do not charge into smoke with a sword."
"Unless the smoke hides a fire," Corvyn replied.
That earned him the faintest glance from his father. For a moment neither spoke.
The Wolfswood stretched across the horizon like a black sea frozen in place. Even from Ravenhold's highest tower it seemed endless, its trees packed close together like the spears of an army waiting in silence.
"You are impatient," Edrick finally said.
"I am prepared," Corvyn corrected.
"You are seventeen."
Corvyn's jaw tightened slightly.
"And how old were you when you first led men into battle?" he asked.
The wind whistled softly through the stone slit.
"Older than seventeen," Edrick answered.
Corvyn almost smiled.
"Ser Halric tells a different story."
That earned him a look. Not anger—something sharper.
"Ser Halric talks too much when there is ale in him."
"He said you were sixteen when you broke a raider band near the Shivering Stream."
Edrick's gaze drifted back toward the forest.
"And three good men died because I thought steel solved every problem."
The words were calm. Matter-of-fact. Corvyn said nothing.
"Strength is easy," Edrick continued. "Any man with a sword can swing it. But knowing when not to swing… that is harder."
He gestured faintly toward the dark woods.
Corvyn followed his father's gaze. The sky had darkened further now. Snow clouds gathered over the distant hills, swallowing what little light remained.
"Bolton men this far south is not nothing," Corvyn said after a moment.
"No."
"Then why do we pretend it is?"
Edrick did not answer immediately. Instead he studied the treeline carefully, as though he expected the forest itself to answer.
"The Boltons," he said at last, "have always been fond of testing the edges of other men's lands. A hunter does not attack first. He probes."
"And we allow it?"
"We watch it."
Corvyn exhaled slowly. The raven that had perched beside him earlier returned, gliding down through the cold air to land once again on the battlement. Its claws scraped lightly against the stone.
Corvyn glanced at it. The bird cocked its head. For a moment, boy and raven regarded one another in silence. Then the raven gave a quiet croak.
Corvyn frowned slightly. "Strange," he murmured.
"What is?" Edrick asked.
Corvyn tilted his head, listening. The wind carried distant sounds from the Wolfswood. Usually it was nothing but branches shifting under snow or the distant cry of a night bird. But now—he heard something else.
Faint. Far away. A horn.
One long note drifting through the trees like a ghost. Both men turned toward the forest. The sound came again. Lower this time. Urgent.
Edrick's eyes narrowed. "That," he said quietly, "is not one of ours."
Corvyn's hand tightened around Nightfeather. The raven beside him suddenly spread its wings and took flight, vanishing into the dark sky.
Another horn sounded. Closer now. And from somewhere deep within the Wolfswood, a second answering horn rose to meet it.
The sound echoed across the frozen hills. Edrick straightened.
"So," he murmured. "The smoke has shown its fire."
Corvyn finally drew Nightfeather halfway from its sheath. The Valyrian steel caught the fading light like black water.
"Father," he said quietly. "Now do we strike?"
Edrick watched the dark forest for several long seconds. Then he turned toward the tower stairs.
"Fetch Ser Halric," he said. "And saddle the horses."
The wind roared over Ravenhold.
"It seems," Lord Edrick Ravaryn finished calmly, "that the hunt has begun."