The arrow thrummed through the air and hit the target with a dull thud.

"Hah," barked Brandon, "not bad little brother, but you spend too much time overthinking. Release faster, fire on instinct."

Ned lowered the bow with a pensive look on his face. "But what about aiming? Surely it's better to fire straight and true than firing too fast and risk missing the target?"

Brandon clapped his hand onto his younger brother's shoulder. "You won't be saying that when an enemy is running at you. Better to shoot quickly and slow them down than spend so long aiming they can get close enough to put a dagger in your eye!"

Ned chewed his lip in thought and made to raise the bow again when suddenly,

"I want a go. Let me have a go Brandon, please. I could hit the target, I know it," called little Lyanna, appearing as if from nowhere at her eldest brother's side. She tugged at his heavy cloak and repeated, "Please!"

Brandon chuckled and ruffled his sister's hair, but Ned looked around and said softly "Lyanna, where is Benjen? You were supposed to be watching him."

"He's right here, Ned." Lyanna said, somewhat petulantly gesturing behind her to where the youngest Stark was sat, in the middle of a puddle.

Soon the practice yard was filed with sound, Brandon chuckling heartily as he tried to pick up the squirming Benjen without getting covered in muck, Ned scolding Lyanna for abandoning her care of her younger brother, and Lyanna starting up the old argument of how she didn't see why she should always be the one looking after Brandon just because she was a girl. Why couldn't she be in the practice yard and Benjen left with the maester, or a servant or someone?

Looking out from the mezzanine platform above the practice yard, Karys watched the scene below. Since their mother Lyarra died, Benjen wouldn't stay with the maester or a servant. Instead he clung to his siblings. He didn't cry or wail, but he made it known in his own way that any other babysitter would not do. He was not yet four, and trotted around after his older siblings like a little pup following the pack.

Brandon, the oldest had returned from his fostering at Barrowtown when their mother had become ill at the beginning of the year, just as her second oldest brother Ned had done from the Vale. Although there had been a swelling sense of despair as their mother's condition had deteriorated, it had been nice to have them home. Though their mother had passed a few months ago, her brothers had stayed. Partly because of the formal mourning period, and partly to support their father Rickard, their sisters and youngest brother through this difficult time.

"When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives." Or so her father often said. If anything their mother's death had strengthened the bond between the siblings. Lyanna was tearing around after Brandon, having him teach her how to ride as fast as he did, finally glad to have someone else with the wolf's blood around. Karys meanwhile had been happiest at the return of Ned. Like her, he was quiet and reserved. When his daily practice was done, they often spent hours next to the hearth in the main solar, talking quietly or even reading in silence. Ned didn't push her or berate her for her taciturnity. They could sit together for hours in perfectly comfortable silence, him reading books full of the stories of the age of heroes, and her embroidering or stitching together shirts. Sometimes they would even go to the godswood together and stare silently at the face carved into the bark, the strange eyes crying blood-red tears. This was when she felt closest to her brother, waiting to hear the Old Gods talk.

A startled yelp jerked Karys out of her reverie. In the scramble below, Lyanna had made a grab for the bow, still taught in Ned's hand. In surprise he had released and the arrow had shot across the yard. It hit the cross bean of the stables, startling one of the horses and causing a stableboy to dive out of the way of a sharp kick. Karys could hear a loud, scolding voice coming from the other end of the practice yard, and knew that soon her father would appear to set his children right. Before he arrived, she slipped along the platform and back into the castle.

Moving quickly and lightly she darted down a corridor and a flight of stairs. Hurrying across the great hall, she slipped out of the door and headed towards the godswood. It was a cold day today, by far the coldest that year. Autumn was close to its end and there was a bite in the air than predicted a snowfall. Karys didn't care. She was built for the winter.

Karys had been born less than a year after the birth of her elder sister Lyanna. The kinder (or more prudent) folk said that it was a year 'twice blessed', whilst in secret many referred to her and Lyanna as 'wildling twins" in reference to the short time between births. However a birth year was one of the few things she and Lyanna shared. Lyanna was bold and wolf-blooded like their brother Brandon. She fought, and shouted, and laughed with wild abandon. She had thick dark hair, the colour of night, and dark grey eyes that twinkled with mischief. As wild as she was, she was also beautiful, and Karys sometimes caught her sister defiantly pulling at her carefully plaited hair, with the intent of making herself look more dishevelled. Even though she was only seven, everyone at Winterfell was certain that Lyanna was going to be a great beauty. Karys was very different in appearance to her sister. As dark as Lyanna's hair was, Karys' hair was pale - white as the first snow. Not quite the silver of the royal house of Targaryen, but a cool blonde that, though uncommon, was not unheard of in the North. Her eyes too were not the shade of dark grey that Lyanna's were, but a pale blue, the colour of an icy pool - just like her brother Benjen. She was slightly scrawny, with with long thin fingers that could work a needle much faster than her sister. Many called her 'a true winter's child', for though they had been born in the same year, one crucial event separated Lyanna and Karys. Two months before her mother was brought to bed with her, the white raven had arrived at Winterfell from the Citadel announcing the beginning of winter. Three days after the first snowfall, Karys had been born. Their mother had often said that Lyanna burned with the bright ferocity of autumn leaves, and Karys was as cool and quiet as fresh snow. Thinking of her mother still made Karys sad, and she slowed her pace as she approached the great white tree.

There was nowhere more peaceful than this, she thought. She took a deep breath and inhaled the smell of leaf mulch as she crunched over the remains of this short autumn. She loved to be outside, to feel the Northern earth beneath her feet, to smell that scent of life and death that surrounded the the saplings pushing through the rotting detritus. She knew the names of so many plants and flowers, they were her own special language, each one with its own properties, its own symbolism.

She lifted her head and closed her eyes as a cold wind rustled through the trees in the godswood. Karys swayed gently on the spot, feeling the movement of the trees around her. She allowed her thoughts to drift. She saw a group of people on horseback setting out across the Northern landscape. Who were they? Where were they going? She did not know, but still the image blossomed behind her closed eyes. Then suddenly yet gently, she felt it - the light cold kiss against her cheek. The image vanished and she opened her eye to stare at the face carved into the tree before her. The air was starting to fill with tiny flakes of snow that drifted softly towards the earth.

Karys raised her eyes to the canopy and inhaled once more.

"Winter is coming"