the thaw. [arya stark]

xxv. stolen infamy

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE:
'the games you play.'

STOLEN INFAMY
｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･

..."FUCK!" Valeria tugged at the withered reigns of her horse, racing through the forest with a truly remarkable speed — her silver hair spraying wildly, one with the wind, as she drew ever closer to their makeshift little camp, swearing under her breath all the way. She'd almost had her hands on a particularly fat looking rabbit, her begrudging yet all too necessary prey, when she'd spotted them — swords drawn and eyes alert as they trudged through the forest, evidently in search of their own victim.

Their prey, however, was far less obliging than Valeria's rabbit — prey that, though possessing all the pretence of goodness that came with her inherent capacity for deceitful masquerade, bit and fought and screamed and swore. Their prey, though they wanted nothing more than to kill them all where they stood was anything but vulnerable and alone — and knew the promise of a solitary massacre to be a less than amusing one should they act upon their momentary need, especially when the prospect of such fun laid just around the corner. And so, with a palpably overwhelming degree of force, she drew to an abrupt halt, dismounting her horse in a single, swift, movement as she raced to wake Arya — whom rested, eerily still, just where she had left her, her sleeping head rested wryly against the bark of a knotted old oak tree.

The crisp snow crackled beneath her booted feet as she approached, the sound faint, yet loud enough to wake Arya — whose left eye fell derisively open, soon followed by the other in an action soon undermined as she flashed Valeria a decidedly arch wink.

"Morning." She grinned, clutching Valeria's freshly extended hand to stumble to her feet, her own hands soon finding the crook of Valeria's waist with an almost infuriating, lazy, measure of charm. "Fancy it already?" She asked, to which Valeria couldn't help but laugh, shaking her head with a faint, coy excuse for a smile.

"As much as I'd like to, I have something even more fun." She payed Arya a distinctly, almost sadistically, excited look to which Arya simply frowned, brows furrowed and eyes full of confusion as she desperately tried to catch on. "They've found us." Valeria whispered, watching her look of confusion twist into something truly terrifying, the very bloodlust that bound them so suddenly consuming her. The prospect of sport, it seemed, had finally arrived, and suddenly, Arya thirsted for the hunt.