Chapter 109: Hunting in Wofswood!

It didn't take long for word to spread throughout Winterfell. The young lord Damian had done something quite remarkable, something that had not been seen in the North for many long years. He had brought with him a weirwood sapling, tender and white as snow, and planted it in the godswood next to the ancient heart tree, whose red leaves whispered tales of the old gods to any who cared to listen. Along with the sapling, he placed stones etched with runes, their symbols enigmatic and filled with a purpose that seemed to hum in the air, promising blessings to House Stark and all its subjects.

The smallfolk of Wintertown were abuzz with the news, their whispers carrying through the chilly air like the wind itself. The Starks had always been loved, revered even, for their steadfast honor and unwavering loyalty to the North, but Damian's actions resonated with the people on a deeper level. Here was a young Stark who not only honoured the traditions of old but sought to breathe new life into them. Such a gesture spoke to the very soul of the North, where the old ways held sway and where the old gods were not merely remembered but revered.

In the market stalls and along the cobblestone paths, talk of Damian's deed was on everyone's lips. The old men who huddled near the hearths spoke of it with a kind of reverent awe, their voices carrying the weight of the years and the tales they had told and retold. "The young lord has the favor of the old gods," they would say, nodding sagely as if they had known it all along. "We'll have a good harvest this year, mark my words."

For the next few days, the Godswood was the most visited place in Winterfell. Commoners lined up to pray beneath the ancient trees, eager to catch a glimpse of the new sapling and the mysterious runes that adorned the stones. Some believed the runes were prayers to the old gods that young Lord Damian had inscribed; others, like Septa Mordane and Septon Chayle, thought them mere decorations. Fortunately, they were mindful enough not to voice their skepticism too loudly, lest they dampen the growing fervor that had taken hold of the people.

Damian had no idea his actions would create such a scene, but he found himself watching with interest as people flocked to the Godswood, their faces alight with a mix of hope and devotion. The ancient heart tree stood as a silent guardian, its leaves rustling softly in the wind, as if acknowledging the new life growing beside it and the countless prayers it had heard in the past few days. Such was the fervor of the believers that some went as far as to sacrifice animals they had hunted, bathing the sapling in the blood of their offerings and murmuring prayers to the old gods for favor and prosperity.

Realizing that another miraculous weirwood sapling could cause undue chaos and suspicion, Damian refrained from germinating more saplings with his magic. Instead, he quietly sowed six more seeds, one next to each runic stone, and irrigated them with just enough of his blood to ensure they would germinate. Unlike the first sapling, these would not grow overnight; they would take their time, breaking through the surface slowly, perhaps within a month, allowing the magic of the Godswood to nurture them naturally.

Damian informed Ned and his mother of his intentions, ensuring they would tend to the seeds and watch over their growth. 

As the day of his departure from Winterfell drew near, Damian approached Ned with a request. "Would you allow me to take the boys on a hunt in the Wolfswood?" he asked, his tone earnest. " I know they are young but they could learn much from the experience, and I promise to ensure their safety."

Ned considered the request carefully, his gaze thoughtful. The Wolfswood was vast and filled with the wild beauty of the North, a perfect place for young boys to learn about the land but the danger was big. Catelyn would never agree. But thinking they might not see Damian for a long time, he agreed but with a few condition. "As long as you promise to keep them safe and return by dusk," Ned finally agreed, "I see no harm in it. Rodrik Cassel will accompany you, along with a few of the guards, just to be safe."

The next morning, the party set out for the Wolfswood. Ace, Damian's trusted falcon, flew high above them, a vigilant guardian as they rode into the dense forest on horseback, with the guards following on foot. The sun filtered through the canopy, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor, and the air was filled with the scent of pine and earth.

Robb and Jon were filled with excitement, their youthful energy contagious as they ventured deeper into the woods. They marveled at the towering trees and the sounds of the forest, their eyes wide with wonder at the world around them.

"Uncle Damian, do you think we'll see a wolf?" Robb asked eagerly, his gaze scanning the underbrush for any sign of movement.

"It's possible," Damian replied with a smile. "The Wolfswood is home to many creatures. But remember, we're here to hunt smaller game. Wolves are best admired from a distance."

As they rode, Damian introduced the boys to Ace, his falcon. The bird circled above, its keen eyes watching for prey. Robb and Jon had taken a liking to Ace, though the falcon kept its distance after their first meeting, having been irritated by the boys' enthusiastic pats and ruffled feathers. Only at Damian's call would Ace reluctantly come to perch near them, eyeing the boys with wary patience.

Damian used the hunt as an opportunity to teach Robb and Jon about tracking and the art of moving quietly through the woods. He showed them how to read the signs of the forest—the bent blades of grass, the broken twigs, and the faint animal tracks that marked the passage of life in the woods.

"Look, Uncle Damian!" Jon exclaimed, pointing to a set of tracks leading off the path. "Are those deer tracks?"

Damian nodded, impressed by Jon's keen observation. "Indeed they are. You have a good eye, Jon. Let's follow them and see if we can catch a glimpse of the deer."

The boys followed Damian as he led them through the underbrush, their excitement growing with each step. The forest was alive with sounds—the rustle of leaves, the chirping of birds, and the distant chatter of unseen creatures. Jon and Robb took it all in with wide-eyed wonder, eager to learn from their uncle.

Above them, Ace soared gracefully through the sky, a dark silhouette against the pale blue expanse. The falcon's keen eyes scanned the landscape, searching for signs of movement.

Jon was the first to notice the bird's sudden change in direction. "Look, Uncle Damian," he whispered, pointing upwards. "Ace is circling. What does that mean?"

"It means Ace has found something," he explained. "The falcon has sharp eyes. He's likely spotted our prey."

The boys exchanged excited glances, their anticipation building. They moved quietly through the dense forest, stepping carefully to avoid snapping twigs or rustling leaves. Damian led them with practiced ease, guiding them toward the clearing where Ace hovered.

After a short distance, they came upon a small clearing bathed in dappled sunlight. There, a group of deer grazed peacefully, their graceful forms blending with the shadows. Their coats gleamed in the light, and their ears twitched with alertness as they fed on the tender shoots of grass.

Robb and Jon watched in awe, their breaths held as they observed the deer from afar. It was a scene of serenity and beauty, a moment that connected them to the heart of the wild. They felt the quiet majesty of the creatures before them and the thrill of being part of something larger than themselves.

"Remember this moment," Damian whispered, his voice soft and reverent. "The woods have much to teach us, and patience is one of their greatest lessons."

The boys nodded, understanding the wisdom in their uncle's words. Hunting was not just about the chase or the catch; it was about understanding the land, respecting its inhabitants, and learning the rhythms of nature.

When the time was right, Damian signaled to the boys to stay put. He, alone moved with quietly, taking care to stay downwind and avoid startling the deer.

Rodrik Cassel, who had been watching from a distance, nodded approvingly as he observed the boys' cautious movements. They were learning well, guided by Damian's steady hand.

As they closed the distance, Damian demonstrated the proper way to nock an arrow and draw the bow, explaining each step with calm authority. The boys listened intently, eager to absorb the knowledge their uncle imparted.

"Remember, it's not about making the kill," Damian said, his eyes fixed on the deer. "It's about respecting the life you take and ensuring it serves a purpose. The North provides for us, and we must honor that gift."

Robb and Jon nodded, their expressions solemn as they watched Damian take aim. The lesson was clear—hunting was a sacred duty, a rite that bound them to the land and the legacy of the Starks.

But the deer was prey to more than just the young lord's arrow. As Damian loosed his arrow, a large black wolf suddenly pounced on the deer from the underbrush, its powerful form a blur of shadow and muscle. The wolf moved with the grace of a born hunter, its eyes locked on its target.

The deer barely had time to react before the wolf was upon it, driving it to the ground with a swift, merciless bite to the throat. Blood stained the forest floor as the deer's life ebbed away. Damian's arrow flew wide, whistling harmlessly past the wolf and disappearing into the trees beyond.