Laughter and lavender sweetened the air. The group and their newfound companions sat around Dale’s plastic long-table. They dined on rich onion, radish and potato stew. Drank clean, cool water from cups of glass. Laughed of a better past and hope for a better future. Ghost skulked behind the stools, hunting fallen scraps. While the raven circled above, cawing for, “Stew!”

For the first time in three weeks, food filled their bellies to bursting. Water quenched their dry mouths. Soap banished their perpetual stink. All the results of Hershel’s charity. All which Jon appreciated. Smiles, genuine smiles, not feigned fragile hope, warmed the faces of his companions. So, he went along with it. He ate. He drank. He even joined in a spot of laughter from time to time. Dale headed most of the laughter, supported in earnest by T-Dog. The two men shouted japes across the table, spurring on the laughter. Andrea sat at Dale’s side, smiling at his stories and laughing at his jokes. Sometimes, their eyes met and for half a heartbeat, Andrea blushed like a maid. Dale beamed like a green boy. Shane sat opposite Dale, T-Dog and Andrea, at the table’s other head, smiling but silent. Jenner sat beside him, too focused on trying to eat with a stitched mouth to join in on the laughter. Hershel and his daughters sat across from Jon, Glenn and Daryl. Hershel smiled courteous smiles when Dale and T-Dog brought upon a gale of laughter. Otherwise, the old man kept a Lord’s face. Maggie and Glenn made unsubtle eyes at each other across the table. While Beth made much the same eyes at Jon. Jon kept his grimaces to himself. Daryl did not. Nor did he eat, or smile. He hadn’t even washed. He bore a scowl into his bowl. Each of the raven’s shrieks for “Stew!” caused his scowl to twitch.

They’d set up their tents in a huddle around the table, off in Hersehl’s field. Only the rusted fence of scarp protected them. Jon kept his eye on it, that and the house. Rick, Lori and Carol had not joined them. Jon knew why. They all knew why. Rick too weak. Lori too fearful. Carol too tired. Carl and Sophia’s injuries hung over all, Jon knew. He felt it in the air. Saw it as eyes chanced a glance towards the house. Heard it during the rare silent lull among the chorus of laughter and chatter. Death loiters in their minds. Daryl wore the truth on his rugged, lined face for all to see.

“She might wake up before she passes,” Jenner had told Jon on the highway, at most a few hours ago. It felt a lifetime ago.

A lie. A kind lie. Sophia hadn’t opened her eyes and Jon suspected that she never would again. Hershel knew it too, Jon knew. When he’d bandaged her stump, after saving Carl’s life, he’d consoled Carol with sweet words but hollow eyes. The sort of eyes a commander gazes upon a dying soldier with. Eyes that bricked up tears, only to release them during the sleepless night to come. Jon had put on those eyes before. He imagined he’d have to do so again.

Dale’s voice cut above the chatter. “To our gracious host!” He thrust his glass up high.

“And his miracle hands!” T-dog added, standing and raising his glass.

They all joined them; Andrea, Glenn, Jenner, and even Shane. Maggie and Beth joined into, smiling; broad and shy respectively. Jon raised his glass and forced a smile. Daryl scowled. Hershel hesitated. He shook his head and waved his hand.

“Ain’t nothin’ gracious about helpin’ those in need,” he said.

“Especially when you owe us,” Daryl said. Venom soured his voice. He glared at Maggie.

The smiles vanished around the table like night fires snuffed at first light. Silence festered.

“Owe!” The raven cawed.

Maggie’s broad grin retreated into pursed lips and downcast eyes as Daryl’s glare bore into her.

“Daryl!” Dale exclaimed, aghast. “Hershel, I apologise for him. I assure you, no one blames you or your daughters for the accident with Carl.”

“Fuck you, old man!” Daryl erupted from his stool.

Andrea erupted from hers. “Say that again!”

Daryl’s nostrils flared. “Fuck! You! Y’all are fuckin’ lyin’ to yourselves!” Daryl flipped his bowl of stew. Onion, radish, potato and broth splattered the blue plastic of the table.

Andrea stepped towards him, fists balled but Dale caught her arm. Her fists unclenched. She huffed and turned from him. Daryl whipped a glare of disdain around the table and marched off to nowhere in particular. Cawing, the raven landed in the spilled stew and gobbled it up greedily.

Dale cleared his throat. Pink flush warmed his wrinkled cheeks. “Hershel, I’m sorry. He’s just… upset is all.”

“No, no. It’s alright,” Hershel said. “He’s upset. It’s only natural.” He glanced at Maggie. A hint of a frown flashed across his lips. “Forgiveness takes time. If any of y’all need to console with the Lord, I have a bible on my nightstand. Feel free to ask for it. While your children heal, what’s mine is yours.”

“Heal!” The raven cackled. “Heal, heal, heal!”

Everyone’s glasses lowered. Glances shot around the table, accompanied by frowns.

“And after?” Jon asked for them.

Hershel’s eyes hollowed. “We’ll discuss y’all livin’ here later. No offence, but right now, y’all are strangers.”

Dale smiled. “Best we familiarise ourselves then.” He raised his glass. “To becoming friends.”

The others raised their glasses. “To becoming friends,” they echoed, Jon among them.

The raven gobbled down a chunk of potato and flapped its wings. “Friends! Friends! Friends!”

Glasses clinked and chatter resumed but not for a moment did death stop its loitering.

***

Dusk gave way to twilight, the group prepared for the first proper rest in weeks and Jon stood before Beth’s bedroom door, hesitant to enter. Death awaited him. The beginning, at least. You can do this. You must do this. Face what you have done, for the sake of what remains of your honour, you meagre bastard boy. Jon seized the door handle and took a long, deep breath. A coolness flowed through his veins. He opened the door.

“Carol? It’s Jon. May I enter?”

A wisp responded. “Yes…”

Jon entered the pink room. Atop a bed of pink blankets lay Sophia. With flesh pale and taught, she looked half a corpse already. An IV bag and blood bag fed her arm through plastic tubes, for all the good it did. Pillows suspended her feet. Bandages covered her stump. Carol sat by her side on a hard wooden chair, hunched and withered. She should have never given the blood, plenty could have done it in her place, Jenner had said as much. But she’d hear nothing of it. Grease matted her short mess of brown and grey hair. Heavy bags hung beneath her eyes, dark and swollen. Sophia’s bear sat on a nightstand, pink and fluffy. A row of neat stitches cut across its chest where Longclaw had pierced it. An uneaten bowl of stew accompanied the bear.

“If you’ve come to apologise, don’t bother. I don’t blame you.” Carol kept her eyes on Sophia as she spoke a little above a whisper.

Jon ought to have been relieved. Yet, his gaze avoided Carol’s all the same. Stupidly, he felt a boy all over again, standing before Lady Stark at Bran’s bedside.

“You should eat. Especially after-”

“Come do what you’ve come to do. Then leave me alone.”

“Aye… As you wish.”

Jon composed himself. Ice hardened his pounding heart. He marched to Sophia’s bedside, knelt and took in her face. A head of lazy, blonde curls had turned to straw. Cheeks once rosy and round, sunk into her face. Eyes so often fearful and downcast gazed unblinking and hollow at the ceiling. Lips so often void of smiles, drew a dried, flaky line across her face. A raspy wheeze whistled from her nose in long, delicate breaths. Jon resolved to remember every detail. A new face among a horde.

“Are you done?” Carol asked, stern and curt.

“No…” The time had come. “Carol, I-”

“What did I tell you about apologising?”

“Sophia will turn when if she dies. We’re all infected. Jenner said as much.”

Carol’s gaze found him, cold and unflinching. “Oh. Okay. Thank you.” She drew her knife from her belt and placed it on the nightstand.

“Carol…” Jon touched her knee. “You understand what I’ve told you, yes?”

Carol brushed his hand away. “What’s there to not understand?”

Jon considered the woman. The look on her face echoed some strange familiarity. Dull, expressionless and vacant. It did not belong to any one face, but many, Jon realised. The look that had followed stalked him all his life. T’was a look that spoke of duty and tears unwept. His father had looked at him in such a way when he bid him farewell for The Wall, so soon after Bran had fallen from the tower. Quorin Halfhand, as he commanded Jon to slay him. Ygritte, as she died in his arms.

“Her brain must be destroyed as soon as she passes. It would serve to have someone watch over her with you, in case she passes while you sleep.”

A limp smile tugged at the corners of Carol’s mouth. “I won’t sleep. Not until she does.”

Jon believed her. A foolish thing to do. But, he did so anyway, at once. “I believe, I may have misjudged you.”

“Maybe. How do you judge me now?”

“Strong enough that I do not need to you like you are some witless child.”

For a brief, pleasant moment, a smile graced Carol, a proper one. “Thank you.”

“I apologise for myself and Rick. Glenn and Jenner wanted to tell you. We kept the truth from you. A truly misguided thing to do. You should have been told the moment Sophia’s life came into doubt.”

“What did I say about apologising?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to grant me that one.”

“No. I think you owe me now.”

“What would you have of me?”

Silver glinted the corners of Carol’s eyes. She scrubbed it away. “Bring Daryl here.” Her voice wavered. “Ma-Make him say goodbye. Before he loses his chance.” She ran her hand through Sophia’s tangle of straw. “It’s what she would have wanted.”

“Aye. Of course. On one condition.”

Carol raised an eyebrow.

“Eat your stew,” Jon said. “I don’t care if it’s cold.”

“Fair enough.” A hint of light crept its way into Carol’s voice. She scooped up a chunk of boiled radish and popped it in her mouth.

***

Many stops and conversations awaited Jon that night. There was much to discuss after a day of such loss. Two children lay grievously injured, one sure to die, the other clung to life by a thread. It troubled the group, all of them. Jon could see it, no matter how much some tried to hide. He intended to find out how bad the damage to morale was. The first of his stops after Carol was Rick and Lori.

Jon found the door to Carl’s room open ajar. Inside, Rick sat by Carl’s bedside alone. Hunched, pale and weathered, Rick held his son’s hand. An empty chair stood beside him. Carl looked as healthy as the day Jon had met him. As if Rick’s life force had been siphoned into him. I suppose it has, in a sense. A tangle of brown hair flowed past Carl’s eyes, like a pair of parted, greasy curtains. Flush pinked his cheeks. A cream glow warmed his skin. Closed, sleeping eyes stared at the ceiling. His shirt had been removed, exposing a wide, white bandage that stretched from one side of his belly to the other. Intertwined tubes of clear, IV water and red, blood ran from his arm to their bags suspended on a coat rack. Carl’s hat sat on a nightstand. Its golden star twinkled beneath the strange, electric lights of this world. Alongside it were two empty bowls.

Rick greeted Jon with half-open, vacant eyes. “Jon.” He nodded.

“Rick.” Jon stood at Rick’s flank and watched Carl. “He seems to be getting better.”

“That’s what Hershel keeps tellin’ me.” Rick squeezed Carl’s hand.

“Where’s Lori?”

“Toilet. Just missed her, I’m afraid.”

“No matter, what I have to discuss is perhaps best suited to a private conversation.”

Rick nodded. He clutched his chin, partially covering his mouth. “I was hopin’ to talk to you too. Tomorrow. But, we can do it now. Shut the door.”

Jon shut the door. “I’ve-”

“Hold on. Sit.” Rick patted the chair beside him. “I hate lookin’ up at people when they talk to me. Bring your eyes to my level.”

Jon preferred to kneel before a man like Rick, but he followed the command and sat.

“Alright. You were sayin’?”

Jon nodded. “I’ve told Carol the truth.”

Rick’s nose wrinkled. “What? Why? I thought we agreed to wait. Hell, waitin’ was your idea in the first place.”

“I’ll be plain. This may well be Sophia’s last night. If not, tomorrow night. Carol won’t leave that room any easier than you will this one. I’d rather we deal with one corpse instead of two.”

“But, Hershel said she’s strong. I heard him.”

“Aye, as did I. But I saw his eyes too. His words were sweet, nothing more. The man hasn’t the heart to tell a mother, a widow no less, that there’s no hope for her only daughter.”

“No. You can’t know for sure she’ll die. Back before all this, I read a news story about a rail worker bein’ hit by a train. It cut him in half but they saved him. Sure, he had to live in a wheelchair, but he lived. What’s an arm compared to that?”

“You aren’t naive enough to truly believe that. Think about what you said. That was then. This is now. You haven’t seen her, not in a while anyway. She looks practically a corpse already.”

Rick sighed and held his head in his free hand. “Okay… yeah. How’d Carol take it?”

“Better than expected. She believes herself capable of doing what must be done when the time comes. Still, it’d be best if someone waited with her. I’ll retrieve Daryl from wherever he went. I trust you heard about his tantrum at dinner?”

Rick chuckled. “I heard it happen. His voice carries.”

Jon smiled. “Aye, it does. A useful thing when it counts.”

Rick lifted his head. His brow furrowed and his jaw clenched. “Alright. We tell them tomorrow. They should know before we have to explain a stab wound in Sophia’s head.”

“Aye, as you command. I’ll let Glenn and Jenner know. I plan on visiting them anyway once we’re done. The others too. We’ve suffered quite a bit recently. Best make sure they’re all keeping their wits about them.”

Rick clicked his tongue and dodged Jon’s eyes to look at Carl. “You shouldn’t have to. It should be my burden.”

“Aye, it’d be better if you did it. But it wouldn’t serve to have you collapse in front of everyone. If they are losing their wits, seeing their leader collapse will only worsen things. And besides, the first thing Carl will want to see when he wakes is your’s and Lori’s faces. Stay here. Let me handle things for now.”

Rick scoffed. “Leader. Don’t know why you all think I am. You, Glenn and Jenner, make plenty of decisions. Even Dale and Lori from time to time. And Daryl doesn’t do anything unless he wants to anyway.”

“Aye, all true. But they call you a leader all the same. They want you to lead. So, you’ll put your head down and get on with it. For their sakes.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“You’ll know. Now, tell me. How goes Lori? What does she make of Carl, Sophia and this place?”

Rick pursed his lips. “It scared the hell out of her. All of it. But… she’ll be fine. She’ll put on her strong face and soldier through it. Always has.”

“You’re certain?”

“Yeah. It’s how she acted before when our marriage-” Rick shook his head and waved his hand. “Doesn’t matter. I just know she can be strong when it counts.”

“Aye, okay. I’ll take your word on it. She’s well suited for this world. Harder days than this will come and we must be prepared to do what is required of us.”

Rick’s face darkened. He stared at Carl and clutched his hand. His foot tapped a fast, erratic rhythm. “Jon.” He spoke in a curt, sharp voice.

“Aye?”

“You told me you’ve killed before.”

“I did.”

Rick sighed. His foot stopped tapping. He let go of Carl’s hand and ran his own through his hair. “Why? How many of them? Did you have a good reason?”

Ice coursed through Jon’s veins, clenching every muscle. “Those answers depend on whether you think me mad.”

“You’re no crazier than the rest of us.”

“But do you believe me? About Westeros?”

Rick paused. He stared at the ground for a handful of heartbeats before meeting Jon’s eyes.

“If you’d have asked me before all this- shoot, if you’d asked me before the CDC, I’d have said no. But, I watched you break blast-proof glass. I’ve seen the way Ghost behaves, the way he seems to understand you as no dog should. I’ve seen the wounds on your chest, the one over your heart. And that damn bird. No way you just happened upon a talking crow that knows your full name by coincidence. So, fuck it, yeah I believe you. Everything you’ve told me and anything you tell me goin’ forward.”

Jon sat tall. “I’ve killed countless. Men, women and children. I’ve been to war. I commanded men to kill. Every man or boy or woman who died by my command, I count. So, hundreds most like. They all blur together into a nameless, faceless mass. But there are five I remember clearly. Four men. One woman. My first kill was a freefolk man named Orell. He attacked me so I killed him to save myself and my brothers of the Night’s Watch. After him, a ranger of the Night’s Watch named Quorin Half-hand commanded me to kill him so I might convince the enemy that I’d turned traitor, to avoid my own death. I did as he commanded. The man who watched me kill Quorin was my next kill, The Lord of Bones or, Rattleshirt. I did not kill him for sometime, however. I killed him years later, so that a better man may live. A man named Mance Rayder was to be executed in retribution for laying siege to The Wall. But I had further uses for the man, so I swapped him and Rattleshirt, and allowed Rattleshirt to be burned alive in his place. The last man to be killed by me was a man named Janos Slynt. He undermined by authority as Lord Commander multiple times, openly questioned my command and aimed to sew derision and discord amongst my men. So, following the traditions of the First Men, I beheaded him with Longclaw for all to see.”

“The woman…” Jon swallowed his grief. His voice trembled despite himself. “The woman was named Ygritte. We were lovers. She a freefolk warrior, me a crow of the Night’s Watch. A match for songs and fables. It was a boy’s love. But that didn’t make it any less real. To speak truly, I do not know who slew her. But she died in a battle of my creation; a battle I fought in; on the opposite side. So, it may as well have been my arrow that found her. She died in my arms. Of all the faces I’ve seen pass into the cold embrace, hers is one I shall never forget for however many of my namedays remain.”

“And now, in this world of yours, I have killed two more. I ran Longclaw through the back of a man called Dan to save Jenner’s life as well as my own. And I killed Sophia trying to save her.”

A haze lifted from Jon’s eyes as he finished speaking. He noticed tears on his cheeks. The folly of boys. He wiped them away and forbid any more from appearing.

“Jesus…” Rick stared at him. Eyes wide. Mouth agape.

“I lived during the long night’s twilight years. Such hardships are to be expect-”

Rick seized Jon’s hand with both of his. He squeezed and bore a moist, determined stare into Jon.

“What are you doing?”

“Jon, as long as I’m around, you’re never gonna have to do anything like that again? Understand?”

“Fool. You can’t promise that.”

“I can and do. You ain’t got parents to protect you, so I will.”

“I don’t need a new father. Let go of me. Has the transfusion taken your wits?”

Wetness trickled down Jon’s cheeks. Perplexed, he wrenched his hand free and wiped the tears away. But new tears replaced the old. Jon wiped them away too, but the stupid, stubborn things kept coming anyway. He tried to speak but his voice caught in his throat. Fire burned in his chest.

“I-I’m a man grown. I don’t need a new-” He choked.

“No. Fuck.” Rick buried his forehead into his palm. “That ain’t what I meant… I ain’t tryin’ to be your dad. You’re too old for that. Just know, that the things you went through, no kid should ever have to go through. If you ever need to talk about it, or whatever, I’m here.”

Jon scrubbed his boyish tears away with his sleeve. “Y-Your world’s sensibilities are different to mine. My life was hardly any crueller than any others. Plenty had it worse than I. I’m highborn. I grew up in a castle. A master of arms trained me. A maester taught me sums and history and all sorts. I went to bed every night warm and with a full belly. That’s more than most could boast.”

“Yeah sure, still doesn’t change the fact you fought in a war, and killed four men and your girlfriend before you finished puberty.”

“Boys half my age saw their entire families killed in the War of The Five Kings. And she wasn’t-”

Rick waved his hand. “Don’t care. Shit you went through was fucked up too. It ain’t a fuckin’ competition.”

Jon stood, without command to do so. He’d had enough of all the folly. “I have much to do tonight. I wish Carl well.” Before Rick could respond, Jon marched out of the room.

The door slammed behind him. An accident but Jon didn’t feel ashamed for a moment. Shame only reared its head as he caught his reflection in the widow of the front door. His boyish tears smudged little river tracks down his cheeks and puffed his eyes, giving him Ghost’s gaze.

“Fool,” he muttered to himself as he marched up the stairs for the bathroom.

He needed a strong face for tonight. The others needed a man to shoulder their fear, not a snivelling, puffy-eyed boy. Jon flung open the bathroom door. A scream greeted him. Lori gawked at him from the toilet. Her trousers pooled around her ankles as she held some strange stick between her legs. Jon’s face flushed.

“Sorry!” He slammed the door shut and stepped away from it.

Fire seared his chest, his heart thundered and he felt a bigger fool than ever. The faint flushing of a toilet penetrated through the door. Followed by the streaming of running water. The door opened.

Jon couldn’t meet her eyes. “I apologise. I had no intention of-”

“Quiet,” she hissed.

Jon met her gaze. She looked worried, rather than furious. Lori looked left and right down the hall before grabbing Jon’s wrist.

“Come in. Quickly.”

“What? No.”

“Just do it,” she snapped.

Jon stepped into the bathroom at once. Lori shut the door and pressed her back to it.

“You can’t tell Rick,” she said.

“Have you lost your mind? Can’t tell him what?”

Lori looked as confused as Jon felt. “The pregnancy test.” She pointed to the sink.

On the sink’s counter, sat the strange stick Lori had had between her legs. More strange medicine, Jon assumed.

“You’re with child?”

Lori’s face dropped. Her shoulders slumped. She kneaded the bridge of her nose. “You don’t know what that is, do you?”

“I have an idea now. That stick tells you if you’re with child? How?”

Lori sighed. “I don’t know. Just does. Please don’t tell Rick. You’ve kept my secrets before. I’m asking you to do it again.”

“I didn’t agree to keep your secret. I agreed to let you tell Rick yourself. Which you still haven’t.”

“I’m getting around to it. There hasn’t exactly been a good opportunity.”

“I suppose not, aye… who’s child is it?”

Lori pursed her lips and avoided Jon’s eyes. “The morning sickness started a few days after the CDC.”

“I see. Why the test then? You should have a bump… I think.”

“I just needed to be certain.” Lori placed her hand over her stomach. “You won’t tell, will you?”

“No. It’s not my place. That’s your burden.”

“I know.” Lori met Jon’s eyes and smiled. “Thanks.”

“Tell him now.”

“Wha-”

“Best your words tell the truth than your body.” Jon gestured to her stomach. “And it should be the whole truth. He deserves as much.”

Silver welled in the corner of Lori’s eyes. She wiped it away, only for more to replace it. “Damn it,” she whimpered. “Why do you have to be right about everything?”

Jon offered his hand. “Come. I’ll escort you.”

Lori nodded, sniffled and took his hand. Together, they made their way downstairs. With each step, Lori’s grip tightened until her grip turned to steel. They stood before the door of Carl’s room.

“He’s gonna kill him,” Lori said.

“Not in his condition, he won’t. And even if he could. I wouldn’t let him.”

Lori nodded, took a deep breath and put on a strong face. She let go of Jon’s hand, stood tall and opened the door. Jon closed the door behind her and lingered outside. Even great men weren’t prone to taking such news well. Rick wouldn’t hurt his wife. But still, Jon prepared himself to break them apart. Faint murmurs seeped through the door. Jon tensed and gripped the door handle. Two murmurs conversed. One soft. One deep. After a few faint exchanges, a silent pause loitered. The deep murmur spoke. The soft responded. Another pause; longer than the last. Silence gave way to soft sobbing. The deep voice murmured. Jon heard the gentle smack of a kiss, followed by faint, tearful laughter.

***

“A horse? What do you need a horse for, son?” Hershel asked. The old man raised a white eyebrow at him across the kitchen bench. One by one, he packed away the bowls and cutlery of that night’s feast into various draws.

“A night patrol. I won’t have our people sleeping outside without some kind of watch,” Jon said.

Hershel nodded. A smile warmed his wrinkled face. “Alright, fair enough. Maggie’ll help you get set up. She’s out on the porch, last I saw.”

“You have my thanks.” Jon turned to take his leave.

“Son, hold on.”

Jon faced Hershel again. “Yes?”

“If you encounter any of them, you’ll treat them with respect, won’t you?”

“Aye, I respect them. We all do. We lived among them for a month. Without that respect, we wouldn’t be here.”

Hershel grinned. “Glad to hear.” He rounded the counter, stood before Jon and analysed him with a look. “You and your people… I think you’re good people. Sorry if I came off as harsh or… unwelcoming before. Just can’t be too careful nowadays. Seems like the moment this sickness spread across the world, morals went out the window. I’m happy to see you people are an exception.”

Jon hid his scepticism behind a face as calm as still water. The words spoken, Jon trusted came from a true place. But no matter how genuine the old man was, he reeked of weakness. Jon nodded and offered a handshake. “It’s a good thing we found each other in all of this.”

Hershel accepted the handshake. “It is.” He reached into his pocket and retrieved a small, plastic object that looked vaguely like a musical instrument. “If any wanderers get over the fence, blow on this. Okay? We’ll come help you deal with the situation.”

Jon took the plastic thing and gave it a light blow. A sharp, high-pitched whistle screamed out of it. “I appreciate it, but I assure you I’m more than capable-”

“I insist. This is my land. Any poor souls who wander onto it are my responsibility.”

“Aye… as you wish.” Hershel’s tone unnerved Jon.

“Oh, also. Don’t stay up all night. Have someone switch with you eventually. A boy your age needs a proper night’s sleep.”

“Aye.” Jon snapped on his heels and headed outside before the old man felt the need to swaddle him and tuck him in too.

Outside, darkness veiled all. Fields of black and grey rolled off into the distance to meet the looming forest, a wall of shadow sentinels. A campfire twinkled on a field of black, like a fallen, orange star. The shadows it cast played queer tricks with Jon’s eyes. They danced upon the camp, turning the tents into far-off mountains and the vehicles into peaceful, slumbering giants. The fence of rusted scrap hid among the dark, only visible if one were to squint; a thin black line. Jon squinted and watched for shambling shadows. He saw none, but Glenn’s words rang in his head. Threats are everywhere. Then, another voice whispered. The night is dark and full of terrors. Jon wondered if Mellisandra was still alive. If Sam was still alive. If anyone was still alive.

He shook his head at once. Stop that. You know better. Jon pushed the thoughts away and looked about the porch for Maggie. A single lantern hung from a rafter, dousing the empty, white porch in a golden light. Jon stood alone, relieved. He’d rather not have to talk to the woman. She struck him as rather incompetent, headstrong without any true skill to back it up.

Instead, a far more welcome companion joined Jon. Ghost, silent even on the uneven boards of the rickety stairs, joined Jon’s side and nuzzled his waist. The direwolf smelt of lavender soap. The lantern light gifted him a golden coat and speckled his red eyes with flakes of gold. They gazed up at him, unreadable, the way Jon liked them.

“Come, boy. We’ve got tonight’s watch.” Jon scratched Ghost behind the ears, getting a wag out of his tail.

“Watch!” screeched an unwelcome companion.

The raven fluttered into the rafters and hung from the lantern, upside down, like some sort of feathered bat. It stared at Jon with its pale, scarred eye.

“Bah, shoo. Do you have nothing better to do than pester me?”

“Corn!”

“Appears not.” Jon sighed. “Fine. Come along, if you must. Let’s see if we can’t find you some corn.”

“Corn! Corn!” The raven let go of the lantern, dropped, opened its wings and fluttered onto Jon’s shoulder. The creature had lost some weight without the comforts of the wall. But still, the large bird weighed on Jon’s shoulder enough to be irritating. Bloody, hawk in raven’s clothing, I swear.

As Jon crossed the gravel lot to head for the stables, he watched the moon. It hung above the barn atop its hill as a slither; a pale, crescent dagger. The barn afforded Jon an inkling of hope. Spacious and tall, it’d make for decent housing. Even if it meant sharing with farm animals. Sleeping among cow shit sounded far better than sleeping out in the open, like a buffet for corpses. The raven stared at it too. It muttered nonsense words.

“Quiet, you. We’ll find your corn, I promise.”

“Sick,” it muttered.

Jon ignored the creature and pressed on to the stables. A golden light spilled out of the stables, casting shadows upon the gravel. As Jon drew near, faint sounds wafted through the air. A woman’s giggles danced with a man’s laughter. Jon made his way down the corridor of pens, past the weathered donkey and stocky workhorse. The giggles turned to moans and the wet slapping of flesh. Jon froze. His cheeks flushed. What are you doing? Get a move on. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before. Jon pinpointed the source. The sounds of fucking spilled out of the vacant pen beside Nessy’s, blocking Jon’s path. Jon grimaced. He could turn back and take the workhorse, but a brave horse would be best to confront the dead. For all he knew, the workhorse would throw him at the mere scent of rot, not to mention how it would react to Ghost. Bloody hell. Jon bored his eyes into the ground and hurried past the empty pen.

Moans turned to screams. “Jon?!” Glenn shouted.

Jon stopped. He needed to talk to Glenn, to tell him of tomorrow’s plans. Taking care to not let his eyes wander, Jon met Glenn’s eyes. Glenn and Maggie scrambled to cover themselves with whatever clothes were nearest.

“Sorry. Can I borrow you for a second?”

“Can it wait?” Glenn asked, panting.

“No.”

“Dude… come on…” Glenn’s eyes glanced at Maggie.

“Dude!” the raven cackled.

“N-No, it’s okay. It must be important. Besides…” A sultry tone coloured Maggie’s voice. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

Glenn sighed. “Fine. But this better be life and death shit, man.”

“I’ll give you some privacy to dress,” Jon said.

He made his way to Nessy’s pen with flushed cheeks. Nessy greeted him with a snort and a flick of his tail.

“Nice to see you again too.”

Ghost eyed Nessy. Nessy eyed Ghost. Even warhorses, broken and hardened for the heat of battle reared at the mere sight of Ghost. Nessy only snorted and turned his snout up.

“Corn!” The raven flew from Jon’s shoulder and landed on an open bag of fodder. It pecked at the dried straw greedily.

A short wait later, Glenn emerged from the empty pen, dressed in unbuttoned jeans and a little more. Lantern light played golden games on his bare chest’s olive skin and wispy, black hairs. “This better be important, dude,” he grumbled.

“Rick and I have agreed that we tell the truth tomorrow.”

“Shit. Really?”

“Aye.”

Glenn clutched his chin and nodded. “Alright. Good. I reckon we do it first thing, around the table. That way everyone knows at the same time, and we can answer any questions right away.”

“Aye, and quell any sort of panic.”

“Yeah, that too. So… this place is it then, right? Rick thinks we’ve found a new home?”

“Rick believes so, yes. But that isn’t the only reason for telling the truth. He and I agree that it’s better they find out from us than have Sophia’s death explain it for us.”

Glenn’s eyes widened. “Sophia’s dead?”

“No. Not yet.”

“Not yet? Come on, man. Have a little hope. She’s got proper medicine now, and two doctors to take care of her.”

“Have you seen her? She’s practically a corpse already.”

“Yeah, I saw. I know it looks bad but I’m not giving up on her.”

“You’re only setting yourself up for greater grief.”

“Maybe… but so be it.”

“So be it then. I can’t chastise hope. Foolish as it may be.”

Glenn chuckled. “Yeah, okay. Whatever you say, dude.”

They shared a merry laugh. Glenn smirked and punched his arm.

“If you ever interrupt me like that again, we won’t be laughing, dumbass,” he said, grinning.

Jon chuckled. “Sorry. It wasn’t exactly pleasant for me, either.”

“Bullshit. Did you see her?” Glenn whistled. “I didn’t think I’d ever meet a girl that hot again, dude. And guess what?” His voice dropped to a whisper. “She came onto me!”

“I’m afraid I kept my eyes above the shoulders, but good for you.”

“You boys done?” Maggie poked her head out of the pen.

“Aye, my apologies. I’ll let you get on with it. Keep your clothes on for a bit, will you? I’m taking Nessy out for a patrol.”

“Wait, hold on.” Maggie stepped out; wearing only a half-buttoned shirt and her undergarments. “I wanted to talk to you, actually.”

Jon averted his eyes from her immodesty. Glenn laughed and smirked at him. Maggie stood before him, unashamed.

“I wanted to apologise,” she said. “For Carl.”

“No need. Your hospitality has more than-”

“Just let me do this, kid. Geez. I suck at this shit. Let me practice on you so I don’t fuck it up with Rick and Lori. Okay? Look, when I saw the… the… uh, corpse and the kid so close I just didn’t think. I pointed and shot like it was a reflex, you know? Like when your hand touches somethin’ hot and you just gotta pull away? That’s what it was like. You get me? God, I’m ramblin’. Look, I just wanted to say I didn’t mean to hurt him. And I feel like a complete idiot for shooting… it… through the stomach of all places. I completely forgot what it was I was shootin’ in the moment, you know? If I hadn’t, the bullet would’ve passed right over Carl. So that’s on me.”

“It! It! It!” the raven cawed.

Jon blinked at her. “Aye… you’re forgiven.”

Maggie clenched her jaw. “Thanks, but I gotta do more to earn that. I’ll talk to my dad about lettin’ y’all stay here. Among other things… We need people like you if we’re gonna rebuild what we’ve lost.”

Jon nodded. “I appreciate it.”

Maggie spat on the palm of her hand and stuck it out to Jon. “Let’s shake on it.”

“Let’s not.”

“Nope, you’re shakin’. Spit shake it sacred. An unbreakable oath.”

Jon sighed, spat on his hand and shook hers. She squeezed his hand tight. He squeezed back. Once they finished, he wiped his hand on his jeans.

“Alright.” Maggie grinned and grabbed Glenn’s arm. “Come on you.”

She dragged him back towards the empty pen. Glenn laughed, seized her waist, flung her over his shoulder and carried her, earning a squeal of a laugh.

Jon saddled Nessy and thought about Glenn’s stance on Sophia’s death. He’d expected grief, despair, and even anger but not hope. A little whisper of doubt plagued his mind.

“Mayhaps, I have misjudged these people once again,” he whispered to no one in particular.

“May-Haps!” The raven cawed.

***

Jon left Glenn and Maggie to their fucking and trotted off into the field a top Nessy, towards the camp. Ghost padded alongside, silent like always. Nessy marched alongside Ghost undeterred. As if Ghost were nothing more than an everyday hound.

Jon stroked his mane. “You would have felt right at home on the wall.”

“Wall!” The raven shot overhead towards the distant night fire; a black arrow on a star-spangled sky.

It’d been weeks since they’d lit a night fire. Its orange twinkling filled Jon with queer nostalgia. The trip from the stables to the camp took longer than Jon would have liked. Dale had insisted they set up a fair distance away, to afford their hosts some privacy. Jon had been alone in his disagreement, so the camp had been lain in the centre of a field, rather than in the gravel lot. Jon counted the minutes from the stable to the camp. Seven, if his counting rhythm had stayed steady. Far too long.

Jon rode Nessy through their camp. A short trip through a corridor of tents and vehicles. The wall of tents and the wall of vehicles sat on either side of Dale’s plastic long-table. Jon manoeuvred Nessy alongside the table, pressing right up against the RV. Atop, Jon spotted Shane. He watched the treeline of looming, shadow sentinels from his plastic hair.

At the end of the long table, Jon found the fire pit. Dale, Andrea, T-Dog and Jenner sat around it, chatting and roasting nuts. The raven hopped around their feet, eyeing the nuts like a hapless beggar.

The grime of travel had vanished. Dale’s hair was white as snow, Andrea’s shiny and golden, T-Dog’s black like dragon glass and Jenner’s a pale cream. The beards of tangled hair once sported by the men were gone in favour of smooth, hairless chins. Except for Dale, who had trimmed his down to a fine, silver stubble. T-Dog and Dale sat across from one another, japing across the crackling flames. Andrea basked in the warmth, clinging to Dale’s arm, half-asleep. Jenner sat in silence, focusing on mashing chestnuts into a paste with the hilt of his knife. Nessy’s approach drew all four pairs of eyes on him.

Dale laughed. “Bit late for riding, isn’t it, Jon?”

“Aye that it would be. I’m heading off for patrol.”

“We’ve got Shane for that, man.” T-Dog grinned and patted his log seat. “Come join us! Fire’s nice and toasty, and these chestnuts are lookin’ mighty fine. I think.”

“Shane can only watch so much at once. We’re open from all sides out here and that fence isn’t sturdy enough to trust our lives too.”

Andrea nodded. “Makes sense. I’ll take the second shift.”

“Can you ride?” Jon asked.

Andrea shrugged. “Can’t be that hard.”

T-Dog scoffed. “Can’t be that hard. You seein’ the same horse I am? Look at him, he hates you already.”

Nessy snorted. The muscles in his neck turned to steel. Jon stroked the stallion’s neck and the muscles softened. “Aye, he’s not new rider material, I’m afraid.”

“Whatever, I’ll just go on foot then,” Andrea said.

“Or maybe, just let Shane. He’s already keeping watch anyway.” Dale placed a hand on Andrea’s knee.

Andrea smirked at him. “Please, you just don’t want me to leave in the middle of the night.”

Dale rubbed the back of his head and laughed. “Yeah, guilty.”

“Don’t worry, old man. You’ll have plenty of me before I leave.” Andrea planted a kiss on Dale’s cheek.

T-Dog bellowed a belly laugh and clapped his hands. “Can’t argue with that, man!”

“No.” Dale took Andrea’s hands into his. His eyes softened. “No I can’t.”

Andrea and Dale shared a smile and a kiss. T-Dog turned his grin on Jenner.

“How’d the old guy find a girl before us? Huh?” He asked, laughing.

Jenner responded with a glare. He pulled his stick from the fire, placed more chestnuts in a bowl, poured some water onto them and mashed them into a paste with the hilt of his knife. A bandage covered his cheek. A white square, spanning from jaw to cheekbone, secured by tape.

“How do we fare tonight?” Jon asked.

Dale tore his eyes away from Andrea to beam at Jon. “Never been better. Look at this place. About as close as we’ve got to heaven nowadays.”

“Yeah, man,” T-Dog said. “We can really make something here. You know? We can finally put all this shit behind us and start rebuilding.”

“Couldn’t put it better myself,” Dale said.

Jon nodded and watched the other two. Andrea smiled a tight, thin smile and stared at her feet. Jenner mashed his paste with a scowl.

“I’ve checked on Carl. Seems like he’ll make a recovery,” Jon said. Best to ease into the hard talks.

“Kid’s tough,” Andrea said.

“Gotta be, after the things he’s seen.” A rare scowl darkened T-Dog’s face. “So fucked up man… those kids’ll never get these years back.”

“One of many tragedies.” Dale pulled his chestnuts from the fire and began cracking the shells. “But, better days are ahead. For us and the kids.” Dale found Jon’s eyes again. “I’ve been meaning to ask. How are you coping, son? We’ve been so preoccupied with the kids’ injuries we never stopped to check in on you.”

T-Dog’s chin dipped. Andrea raised her head. Even Jenner stopped what he was doing to stare.

“Fuck.” T-Dog whispered. “True. Sorry, Jon. I didn’t even think- I mean you had to-”

“I’m fine. I did all I could to save her. That’s all I can ask for.” Jon’s burned hand ached.

Dale and T-Dog smiled meek, sullen smiles. Andrea frowned.

“Whatever happens, know it wasn’t your fault,” she said.

“I know,” Jon lied. For their sake.

Dale laughed an awkward laugh. “Come now, you’re talking like Sophia’s gonna die. You heard Hershel, she’ll pull through.”

“I know sweetheart…” Andrea smiled a thin smile and kissed Dale’s cheek. “I heard him. I mean, if Daryl or Carol or Sophia hold it against him, that he shouldn’t feel bad.”

“Oh.” Dale held Andrea’s hand and smiled at Jon. “I’m sure they won’t. Well, Daryl might. But he isn’t exactly friendly, to begin with. Never has been. Him or his brother.”

Jon gave him a nod and smiled. “Aye, I’m sure you’re right.” He glanced at T-Dog. They had gone quiet. Shadows veiled his face as he stared at the ground. Best to keep an eye on him.

Jenner clutched his cheek. “Jon-” He winced. “Can we speak alone?”

“Aye.”

Jon dismounted and led Jenner away to the tents. Ghost padded after them. Nessy wandered off to graze. The raven remained to beg by the fire. The others resumed their chatter.

Jon ducked inside Jenner’s tent. An empty space with a blue, plastic floor and a huddle of scavenged blankets to sleep on. They had no lights so the night’s dark consumed all. A silhouette that must belong to Jenner slipped through the tent’s flap after him and sat down. Ghost sat outside, guarding them on his haunches.

“Before we speak, you should know. We’re revealing the truth tomorrow,” Jon said, a little above a whisper. “Rick and I believe the time is right. Glenn agrees.”

“About time.” Jenner clutched his cheek as he spoke. His wound muffled and gurgled his words. “Have you told Carol?”

“Aye… I made that decision alone.”

“And?”

“Better than expected. Far better. She has a certain strength to her, that one. She accepted the truth at face value.”

“Not unexpected at all, actually.”

“We’ll see.”

“We will.”

A tension lingered between them.

“What did you want to speak about?” Jon asked.

“The walker. It planned out an ambush. Used a weapon. Reacted to your attacks. The dead can’t do that.”

“No… they can’t.”

“Yet, it was dead.”

“Undoubtedly. Surely you have some idea. This is your area of expertise after all.”

“Only a hypothesis… nothing concrete.”

“It’ll have to do.”

“Alright, well, Candice had this theory of a third mutation wave. The final step in the wildfire virus’s conquest. Essentially, once it got settled into the second wave and established a strong presence of roaming hosts, the virus would start to reactivate the strongest neural pathways of the brain. If true, hypothetically speaking, the virus could perform more complex tasks that its host performed on a day to day basis. Stuff that’d been committed to instinct. Our walker was a cop, right? It’d track that fighting with a baton and recognising potential attacks from an assailant would be drilled into their memory through training.”

Jon understood enough of what Jenner said to follow. “I saw walkers climb ladders and use rubble to bash windows. And Rick told me about a child walker he met at the start of all this carrying a toy bear around as well as one that tried to open a door. Could that be the third wave as well?”

“Yeah, definitely. First-wave and second-wave walkers can only roam or lurk, nothing more.” Jenner winced and smiled. “I guess Candice was right.”

“It appears so. Did she come up with a name for these variants?”

“Just that, actually. Variants. A proper name was still pending.”

“Variants it is then. Best we inform the others of their existence tomorrow, along with the truth about the virus.”

“Agreed.”

Jon gummed his lips. “Also… Rick believes me.”

Jenner’s stern gaze brightened. He winced as a grin spread across his face. “All of it?” He clutched his cheek.

“Aye. All of it. At least, he says so. He wanted to know about the people I’ve killed. I suppose he wanted to make sure I wasn’t a crazed killer. So, I told him about Orell and Quorin and Rattleshirt and Janos Slynt and…”

“Ygritte?”

Jon nodded.

“How’d he take it?”

“Foolishly. He tried to comfort me like he thought to be my father. I was all quite… uncomfortable.”

“I’d call that a pretty reasonable response, Jon.”

“Aye, you would. A queer lot, the pair of you.” Jon shook his head and waved his hand. “Let’s talk no more of it. I just thought you’d like to know you have someone to discuss your notes with.”

Jenner’s smile faded. “Thanks.”

***

Jon left Nessy to graze and climbed the RV’s ladder. Ghost waited on his haunches at the ladder’s base and gazed at the dagger moon with lazy red eyes. Atop the RV, Jon found Shane in his plastic chair with an empty, scoped rifle in his lap. A thorough wash had returned the cream to his skin. And the curls to his head of black hair, pitch like a starless night sky. And although the wash rid him of a sour stench, it did naught for his sour face. A perpetual scowl honed in on the distant, looming, black sentinels of the forest. He paid Jon no mind as he set foot atop the RV.

With one hand on Longclaw’s pommel, Jon stood beside Shane and stared out into the forest. “We need to discuss what transpired today.”

“Ain’t nothin’ to discuss.”

“There is. You’re trying to turn Rick’s people against him.”

“I ain’t tryin’ to do shit. Just told it like it is, that’s all. Rick’s the leader. Leaders take the blame.”

“Don’t take me for a fool, Shane. What you covet is plain for all to see.”

Shane’s grip tightened around his rifle. “Jon, get the fuck away from me.”

Jon stood between Shane and his view of the forest. “You ought to regard me with kindness.”

“Yeah, and why the fuck is that, kid?”

“Because I’m here. Talking to you. While the others pretend as if you don’t exist.”

Shane’s scowl wavered. The grip on his rifle loosened.

Jon squeezed Longclaw’s direwolf pommel. “After everything you’ve done, you ought to have been exiled or executed. Don’t think for a moment we didn’t discuss it. I argued against it. Because for all your faults, you’re strong. We need strong men in times like these. So, for your own sake, don’t make me regret that decision. Keep your head down and do your part.”

A thin smile spread across Shane’s lips. “So, you didn’t kill me. That meant to make us friends now? You wanna braid dandelions into each other’s hair or somethin’?”

“Even if these people did turn against Rick, they’d never turn to you next. Not after what you’ve done.”

“No… they wouldn’t.” Shane thumbed the hilt of his rifle. “You’d be next. Wouldn’t you?”

“I couldn’t say.”

“I can. Fuck, look at yourself, kid. The cloak. The sword. The wolf. You’d have to be fuckin’ retarded to not listen to what you have to say.”

Jon raised an eyebrow. “So, you’re listening then?”

“Yeah, yeah. I am. Fuck. I ain’t dumb. I see how things are. Before, the things I said about Rick, that shit was just heat of the moment. You know? The kid’d just lost an arm. Daryl and the dog were at each other’s throats. Things looked like they were fallin’ apart and no one was doin’ shit about it. I got emotional. Can you blame me? You ain’t gotta worry about me, Jon. I’ll just stay out of the way, where I can’t bother people by beein’ seen. Swear it on those I’ve lost.” Shane put his hand over his heart, over his golden, sheriff's star.

“Aye… okay. Good.”

Shane offered Jon his hand. “Thanks for the second chance, man. I owe you. For real.”

Jon shook his hand. “You can pay back the favour by staying true to your word.”

“Deal.”

Jon nodded. “Aye, okay. I’ll leave you be, then. Enjoy tonight’s peace for however long it lasts.”

“You too, man.”

Jon crossed the RV’s roof and approached the ladder. But before descending, he looked over his shoulder at Shane. “Shane, if you’re lying to me, I’ll execute you myself.”

“Yup, heard the threat the first time.” Shane waved to him over his shoulder.

Jon watched Shane for a moment before descending the RV’s ladder. Below, he found Ghost waiting patiently. Jon smiled.

“Good boy.” He ruffled the direwolf’s ears.

Ghost’s tail went to wagging and he caught Jon’s hand in his teeth. He nipped. Jon tugged. The wolf tugged back, gently. If Ghost so chose, he could take Jon’s arm off with little trouble. His mouth could fit Jon’s whole head. It made his hand seem that of a child’s between his teeth. But, Ghost only nipped and tugged; hard enough to make it fun but never enough to cause harm. Jon chuckled and pet him again. Ghost let go and together they went to find Nessy. Nessy hadn’t wandered far and when Jon mounted him, he made no fuss.

With Ghost in tow, Jon headed off for his last stop before he began that night’s patrol. On the other side of the field, the lonely, pointed silhouette of a tent sat nestled among black and grey grass. White light flickered within the tent, dim and pale, like a heavenly beacon.

Jon trotted Nessy across the field to Daryl’s tent. Ghost skulked after him through the grass. The raven glided overhead, casting a winged silhouette against Georgia’s night sky. A night sky like no other. The Westerosi night sky housed thousands of twinkling pale eyes and countless constellations. Jon knew all the important ones by heart.

The crone’s lantern, the galley, the ghost, the ice dragon, the cradle, the moonmaid, the shadowcat, the sow, the horned lord and the sword of the morning. Seven wanderers patrolled the night’s sky, each sacred to the southern faith of the seven gods. Jon hadn’t bothered to learn their names. Nor should he. Even if the seven were real, they were lies, the same as the old gods. No afterlife awaited them. Only the cold embrace. Yet, Jon knew the name of one of the wanderers all the same. The red wanderer. Ygritte had told him its true name. The thief. Oftentimes, when hardships saught to test Jon’s command on the wall, he watched the sky for the thief. The little red dot filled him with a queer peace.

But that’s all there was in the Westerosi sky; wanderers and stars and the moon or the occasional comet. Georgia’s night sky sported a band of celestial clouds that slashed the sky. Like a heavenly wound that bled starlight. No matter how many nights Jon had spent beneath it, it never failed to amaze him. Jenner called it the Sagittarius Arm, named after the word for “archer” in the dead tongue of Latin. But Jon preferred to call it “the wound”, for that’s what it looked like. He basked in its yellow and blue light all the way to Daryl’s camp. The majesty of the wound gifted Jon pause. He pondered his approach towards convincing Daryl. Direct, plain and calm, Jon decided as he arrived.

“Daryl? May I enter?” Jon asked as he dismounted.

A grunt responded. Jon had heard enough of such grunts to recognise it as a “yes”. He left Nessy to graze outside and ducked inside the tent. Ghost sat guard on his haunches. The raven followed Jon inside. Daryl sat cross-legged in the corner of the tent, whittling crossbow bolts from sticks under the light of a torch held between his teeth. His hair, the colour of mud, hung over his eyes, greasy and tangled. Dirt, sweat and all manner of unwashed filth smudged his skin and stained his clothes. The light played queer tricks on his face, enlarging his already prominent eye bags and bunny lines. He regarded Jon with a curt glance, never once pausing his whittling.

“Can I trouble you to free your mouth so we make speak?” Jon asked.

“Speak! Speak!” the raven cried, strutting about the tent’s blue, plastic floor.

Daryl spat out the torch and scowled. “What’re you doin’ here?”

“I might ask you the same.”

“What’s it look like?”

“Hiding.”

Daryl’s upper lip curled. “Fuck you.”

“Carol needs you. Yet, here you sit.”

Daryl scoffed. “Yeah? She tell you that?”

“Aye, she did, actually.”

Daryl stopped whittling and avoided Jon’s eyes.

“I’ll ask you again,” Jon said. “What are you doing out here?”

“She don’t need me. A miracle’s what she needs.”

Jon sighed. “Daryl… only three people could ever get Sophia to smile. Her mother, Carl and you. Why you of all people, I have no idea. But the fact remains that she liked you nonetheless. Only one of the three people that that girl cared anything for is by her side. Carl’s got an excuse. Where’s yours?”

“Kid… you don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

Flames danced in Jon’s chest. “Listen, go say goodbye before she dies and you lose the chance.”

Daryl threw down his bolts and pointed his knife at Jon. “And who’s fault is that?! Huh?! They were yours to watch over and you let her run!”

“Run! Run! Run!” the raven cried.

Jon took a deep breath, ran his fingers through his hair and dulled the flames in his chest. Cool, calm washed over him.

“Daryl, we’re all infected.”

“The fuck you talkin’ ‘bout now?”

“It isn’t the dead’s bite that turns us into them, it’s death itself. If- When Sophia dies, she’ll turn and if Carol’s up there alone she’ll have to put her down.”

Shadows played games upon Daryl’s face as his rugged features dropped. “What- What makes you think that?”

“Jenner confirmed it to me. I told Rick. Rick told Glenn. And together we decided to keep it from you all. A mistake, I’m starting to realise. I apologise for that. And more. For Ghost’s attack. For letting Sophia run. For allowing the dead to bite her…” Accursed tears invaded Jon’s cheeks again. He scrubbed it away and forbade any more to well. “The blame for her death falls squarely on my shoulders. That’s my burden to carry. So, let me carry it, pack up your stuff and go say your goodbyes.”

The torchlight glistened in Daryl’s, silhouetted eyes. He wiped his hand over his face. “God dammit,” he muttered. He set down his knife. “Thanks, man. Sorry for hittin’ you. I shouldn’t have.”

“No, you should’ve. I deserved it.”

“No, god dammit, you didn’t. Fuck… there ain’t never no reason to hit a kid. Fuckin’ never. I’m an asshole for hittin’ you and a total piece of shit for pullin’ that fuckin’ knife.”

“I’m no child. I can take a hit.”

“Yes, you fuckin’ are. Shithead. That beard don’t fool me.”

“Shit! Head!” the raven cawed.

Shadows danced upon Daryl’s lips as a smile crept across them. “You better hide that bird next time we run out of food. He’s first on the menu.”

Jon chuckled. “You’re more than welcome to him.”

Daryl’s grin broadened as he let loose a belly laugh. He squeezed Jon’s shoulder. Jon squeezed his back and laughed with him. The raven cawed as if to protest.

“Can I trouble you with one more request?” Jon asked once his laughter died down.

“Sure.” Daryl tripped on the last of his laughter. “What is it?”

“Well, two, actually. Don’t tell anyone about the true nature of the virus. We’ve planned to let everyone know at the same time tomorrow around breakfast.”

“Not even Carol?”

“Carol knows.”

Daryl nodded. “Alright. Sure thing. What else?”

“Take a bloody shower. You smell like sour milk.”

Daryl smirked and clutched the back of his head. “Fine.”

***

Once Daryl set off for the house, crossbow slung over his shoulder, Jon finally began his patrol. Nessy trotted him around the perimeter of rusted, scrap sheets. Ghost padded ahead, a fair distance away, stalking imaginary prey through the wheat stalks and long grass. The raven rested on Jon’s shoulder, queerly silent. The patrol started parallel to the house’s front door. Jon counted the minutes until he arrived there again. A trip around the perimeter took thirty minutes, more or less, at trotting speed.

Landmarks inside and outside the fence were few and far between. Outside, black and grey fields of wheat and grass rolled over boundless hills, void of anything else. But inside, the barn loomed overall atop its hill on the western side of the property. When Jon passed it, Ghost drew closer and glued his red-eyed gaze on it while the raven muttered under its breath. It was of a great size and a perfect distance from the farmhouse. Quite suitable for more permanent housing than their camp in the field. Better to sleep among hay and dung, than sleep open to the dead. To the east, a giant oak mirrored the barn’s height. Tall and broad, like an oaken drum tower. As Jon passed it, Ghost skulked off to relieve himself on it while the raven fluttered into its canopy to strut along its branches. If it’s bark were white and its leaves red and hand-shaped, it’d make a fine heart tree for a gods wood.

Darkness hindered Jon’s ability to see all that far but as far as he could tell, all was peaceful. But as Jon finished his first lap, Glenn’s words rang in his head. Threats are everywhere. He set off on another lap. The second of many. Hopefully all peaceful.

However, no sooner than Nessy had taken two steps, did a shadow dart from one of the house’s second-story windows. Nimble as a cat, it darted across a lower roof, leapt onto the gravel and bolted out into the field, making for the towering oak. At once, Jon dug his heels in and snapped Nessy’s reins. Nessy whinnied and galloped for the tree, cutting a line as-the-raven-flies through fields of wheat and tall grass. Ghost raced alongside, silent and sure-footed, while the raven cackled from Jon’s shoulder. The shadow darted behind the tree, out of sight. As Jon drew near, he unsheathed Longclaw and drew in a breath. He opened his mouth to bellow a warning to the would be intruder. But a high, sweet melody gave him pause. A woman’s voice wafted through the air. A Georgian accent twanged the song’s vowels and silenced its Rs.

“By yon bonnie banks and by yon bonnie braes Where the sun shines bright on Loch Lomond Where me and my true love will never meet again On the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond”

Atop Nessy, Jon rounded the tree and found Beth knelt before the tree. The moonlight glimmered in her golden hair, tied taught behind her head. Two wooden crosses stuck out of the ground at the tree’s base. “Beth?” He asked, sheathing Longclaw.

“Oh!” Beth started, cutting of her singing. Her eyes, wide and blue, snapped to Jon. The fear vanished. She smiled. “Oh, hello Jon. What are you doing out here?”

“I might ask you the same. You shouldn’t be out here alone. It’s not safe.”

“Well, I asked first and that is my horse you’re sitting on, so…”

“My apologies. If I’d known, I’d have asked you directly. But the fact still remains that you shouldn’t be out here.”

“Why? We’ve got the fence. Plus, you’re out here.”

“It’s too low and too shoddy. I’m unwilling to entrust the lives of the others to it. And, I’m not alone. I have Ghost.”

Beth shrugged. “Well, the fence done a good job so far.” Her eyes found Ghost by Nessy’s side. “So his name is Ghost? What made you choose that?”

“How about we discuss his name back at the house?”

“You can protect me, can’t you?”

“I can but-”

“Then we’re just as safe here.”

Jon sighed. He had no time for children’s games. “He’s named Ghost because he never makes a sound. And because his fur is white.”

“Makes sense. How about your bird? What’s its name?”

“It doesn’t have on. It isn’t a pet.” A pest more like.

“That ain’t right. It’s gotta have a name.”

“Daryl likes to call it Little Bastard.”

Beth furrowed her brow. “That’s not nice. He’s only a bird. What’d he do to deserve that?”

“Nice!” the raven cawed. It eyed them from its perch on a low branch.

“Be a nuisance.”

“Well, if he ain’t your pet. Why’s he follow you around?”

Jon stiffed. He racked his mind for a lie. He decided on a half truth. “He belonged to a friend. A man called Mormont. He raised ravens. This one was his favourite. I found it out on the road a few weeks ago, eating the flesh from a dead man’s face. I assume Mormont died, or let the birds go. Either way, the raven recognised me and has been following me ever since.”

“Then he definitely deserves a name. To honour your friend.”

Jon sighed and said the first name that came to mind. “Bloodbeak. Because of how I found him.”

Beth curled her lip. “That’s a horrible name.”

“Blood! Beak!” the raven flapped its wings. “Blood! Beak! Blood! Beak! Blood! Beak!”

Jon smirked. “He seems to like it.”

Beth tried to keep her frown but a giggle broke her resolve. “Okay, well if he likes it, Bloodbeak it is then.” She held out her hand to Ghost.

Ghost padded to her, passed her hand and nuzzled her face. Giggling, Beth ruffled his fur, sending Ghost’s tail to wagging.

“Are you ready to go back now?”

Beth glanced at the crosses. Her smiled faded and her shoulders drooped. “Not yet… I haven’t prayed for Nan and Pa yet.”

Jon shifted in his saddle. “Your grandparents?”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry for your loss. We’ve all lost people. You’re not alone.”

“Oh… no, they died before all of… this. Tonight marks two years since their passin’. My family’s been pretty unscathed by everythin’, truth be told. Thank the Lord.”

“Is that what that song was? A prayer?”

Beth raised an eyebrow. “No, it’s Loch Lomond. Nan used to sing it to me. Her Nan used to sing it her, back in her old country. It’s about two Scottish rebels held prisoner by the English. One’s to be executed. One’s to set free. You haven’t heard of it before? Aren’t you Scottish?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t. I… didn’t grow up there.”

Beth shrugged. “Neither did I. But, whatever. It ain’t important.” Beth’s eyes drifted away. Flush warmed her cheeks. “I-I’d like if you prayed with me.”

“Sorry, I don’t worship any gods.”

“Oh. Well, would you care to just sit with me then? I could use the company. These past weeks have been quite lonesome. Don’t get me wrong I love my family, but they’re grown. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see someone my own age again.”

“Your own age? How old do you think I am?”

“Seventeen? Jenner told me so. How old do you think I am?”

Jon found himself flushed. “Oh… well…”

Beth laughed. “Just messin’ with you. I know how I look. I get it from mom. She has a baby face too. But no, I’m seventeen. Like you.”

Jon’s nose wrinkled. “Has? I haven’t seen your mother around.”

“Well, yeah. She’s in the barn. Most of my family are. The farm hands and the neighbours too. Even Mayor Lewis. We found him not to long before you arrived. Wandered right up the fence.”

“What? Do you speak of the dead?”

“Dead? No. They’re still alive. I’m talkin’ about the sick ones. You know, the whole reason we’re in this mess to begin with? I’ll show you if you like.”

“Aye, I think you best.”

Beth’s face brightened and she got to her feet. “Great! Oh, you better leave Nessy here. He’s brave, but he refuses to get close to the barn.” Beth shrugged. “Guess even he’s afraid to get sick.”

>em>“Sick!” the raven cackled.

“Aye… I imagine he is.”

Jon tied Nessy’s leading rope around the oak’s trunk and followed the mad girl across the fields. As they approached the hilltop-barn, the dagger-moon ducked out of sight behind its peaked roof, casting them in a moon-light shadow.

Shadows veiled Beth’s features as she looked over her shoulder at Jon. “Keep quiet,” she whispered. “Sound gets them all riled up.”

Jon nodded. He tightened his grip on Longclaw’s pommel. Ghost skulked beside him, red eyes locked on the barn. The raven glided overhead, muttering to itself. Beth led them around the barn to its back. It’s red, wooden walls loomed high over Jon’s head. Jon checked for cracks, gaps or any breaches. The walls were solid from ground to roof. Jon listened closely, ever so closely. Faint shuffling feet and gurgled breathing nagged Jon from beyond the walls. Behind the barn a ladder leaned against the wall, leading to a square, man-sized opening. Beth stopped before the ladder. Moonlight glimmered off her pale skin and golden hair as she faced Jon with a smile.

“Mom’ll like you.” Her face flushed. “I mean… I hope.”

Jon motioned for Ghost to sit. He sat guard by the ladder’s base, staring at Beth. The raven perched atop the ladder and stared inside the barn, muttering endlessly. Slow and steady, so as to keep noise to a minimum, Jon climbed the ladder until he got a look through the square-hole. Below, huddled in a lazy clump, a small army of corpses shuffled to and fro. Death’s rotten stench festered in the air.

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Next chapter, Jon takes action to ensure the safety of everyone on the farm.