She wants to. Everything that makes her a Stark wants to run and run and run until she has exhausted every part of her. She wants to howl, and find a pack and be a part of something. But the Starks are dead and buried, too. It's not safe to be a wolf.
Mercy draws in a breath to say as much, but in the distance, she hears a howl. A proper howl, and it thrills her to her bones. The wolf is alone, confused and angry and sad, and she thinks she can hear all the sharp notes that say exactly that. Her eyes widen, and she starts forward, one halting step at a time. She leaves Mercy behind with each slow step, sheds her skin as she reaches for someone else.
Nymeria.
For a second, she smells everything, every blade of grass, every tree, every scent of man. Then she's back in her body, with her small nose and small eyes. But her feet carry her, and she does run, crashing into the brush with her heart hammering in her chest.]
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She wants to. Everything that makes her a Stark wants to run and run and run until she has exhausted every part of her. She wants to howl, and find a pack and be a part of something. But the Starks are dead and buried, too. It's not safe to be a wolf.
Mercy draws in a breath to say as much, but in the distance, she hears a howl. A proper howl, and it thrills her to her bones. The wolf is alone, confused and angry and sad, and she thinks she can hear all the sharp notes that say exactly that. Her eyes widen, and she starts forward, one halting step at a time. She leaves Mercy behind with each slow step, sheds her skin as she reaches for someone else.
Nymeria.
For a second, she smells everything, every blade of grass, every tree, every scent of man. Then she's back in her body, with her small nose and small eyes. But her feet carry her, and she does run, crashing into the brush with her heart hammering in her chest.]