Hope #22

Gale opened his mouth, ready to argue, but had to swallow his words as the haunting caw of a raven filled the frosty air, its ebony silhouette perched atop a weathered tree branch, its beady eyes glinting with an eerie intelligence. 

Gale's attention was drawn upward as he observed the mysterious raven, his thoughts momentarily diverted. With an almost knowing gaze, the raven tilted its head and shifted to another tree, issuing another series of melancholic cries. 

When he turned back to Qhorin, a glimmer of resolution danced in Gale's eyes. "There's still hope for you yet," he stated calmly in a determined tone.

Qhorin, in his weakened state, couldn't help but furrow his brow, baffled by Gale's seemingly nonsensical words. "What nonsense are you speaking, lad?" he inquired, his voice edged with frustration. 

"I'm dead weight as I am, and I'll die soon anyway. Beyond the wall, you either travel light or you die; there is no in-between," Qhorin emphasized, his words reflecting the harsh reality of their perilous journey.

Gale sighed, the weight of his resolve evident. "Listen... just take it as me being a coward and avoiding a burden I know I can't live with," he confessed, fixing his gaze unwaveringly on Qhorin. 

"Give me a chance to make this right. If I fail, I'll do as you say..." he implored, his voice tinged with earnestness and hope.

Qhorin, his gaze fixed upon the starry expanse above, remained momentarily silent as though contemplating Gale's offer. 

With a resigned sigh, he finally responded, "It will be a waste of time and energy..." The old ranger's voice held a trace of reluctance, but he offered a begrudging agreement. "But if it'll make you feel better... by all means, suit yourself..."

With a nod, Gale acknowledged the old ranger's reluctant agreement. "Thank you," he murmured, his gratitude heartfelt. His gaze shifted to the enigmatic raven as he stood up, and it responded with another caw before taking flight to a different tree, beckoning Gale to follow.

He explained his course of action to Benjen and Edd, his voice laced with certainty. "If there's anyone capable of saving Qhorin's life, it would be the Three-Eyed Raven... we're heading north-east," Gale declared.

Benjen and Edd shared a puzzled glance, unsure of the source of Gale's newfound confidence. However, something about the unwavering certainty in his voice prompted them to nod in agreement, an almost unconscious reaction. 

...

Atop the Fist of the First Men, the wildling woman fervently searched the area she had pinpointed on the map. With haste, she dropped the map aside and sank to her knees, using her bare hands to dig through the snow. 

After a brief but intense flurry of activity, her fingers eventually encountered a stone lid embellished with intricate carvings, a relic of the First Men, concealing some hidden treasure.

She reached for the stone's edge, her muscles straining as she attempted to lift it. The weight of the stone, coupled with the fatigue from their arduous journey and the still-unclosed wound on her body, proved too much for her to manage alone. 

"Someone give me a hand here," she called out to the women who were occupied with setting up the camp. Two of them quickly hastened to her side.

With combined strength, the three women managed to hoist the heavy stone lid. Without wasting a moment, the wildling woman plunged her hand into the dark crevice beneath the lid, her fingers eagerly sifting through its contents as she sought something of utmost importance.

Time seemed to hang in the balance as the other two women observed her, their gazes filled with curiosity. As the seconds ticked away, the wildling woman's initial excitement turned to dismay. 

"There's... there's nothing inside," she muttered in a disheartened tone. Her expression darkened with a tinge of disbelief. "That can't be right..." She added, her words tinged with a note of denial.

Morag shook her head in response to the disappointing discovery as she approached the wildling woman. "Of course, there's nothing inside," she remarked with a sigh. 

"A war horn that could awaken giants... if such a thing ever existed, it would have vanished with the Children of the Forest centuries ago, like all other magic..." She offered an understanding tone.

In response to Morag's skepticism, the wildling turned to her with a hint of annoyance. "It must have been here. The cache is at the exact spot marked by the map..." Her frustration was evident as she clenched her teeth. "Someone must have reached it before I did," she insisted.

Morag wore a knowing smile. "If that's the case, then maybe your efforts weren't entirely in vain," she offered some consolation. "You just need to find the one who took the horn and retrieve it..." she suggested.

The wildling woman paused, lost in thought. "Only crows frequent this godforsaken place..." Her expression grew darker as a troubling realization took hold. "Damn it...!" She cursed, the image of the young ranger who had shot her in the thigh and left her to her fate flashing through her mind.

...

As Gale and the others trudged through the snowy wilderness, Edd couldn't help but groan in discomfort. "Are we there yet?" he asked, repeating a question he'd posed many times since they set off to follow the enigmatic crow. 

"If my legs could speak, they'd be cursing my ancestors..." he added, rubbing his sore limbs.

Benjen and Edd had initially harbored doubts about following a peculiar bird, even after Gale's explanation. However, upon closer inspection of the raven's behavior, they realized its uncanny intelligence. It appeared to be deliberately guiding them toward a destination.

Gale, who was responsible for pulling a makeshift sled bearing Qhorin, smiled wryly at Edd's complaint. "We're nearly there," he assured, casting his gaze toward an elevated hill on the far side of a snowy clearing. At its pinnacle stood a colossal heart tree crowned with crimson leaves. The raven had perched upon its ancient branches. 

"But it's too early to celebrate... I sense undead lurking nearby," he cautioned, his attention keenly focused on the surroundings.

Edd couldn't contain his exasperation. "Of course, there'd be undead here... because why the hell not?!" With a determined grip on their swords and dragon glass daggers, he and Benjen prepared for the potential confrontation.

Almost on cue, the snow erupted into the air as over a dozen skeletal wights emerged from their concealed positions within the earth, their grotesque forms eerily silent before they unleashed horrific shrieks and surged forward to attack the group.

Gale inhaled deeply, his breath visible in the frigid air, as he raised his hand. Ice swiftly coalesced, enveloping his dragon glass dagger. The jagged obsidian blade served as its tip, while the newly formed ice extended outward to create a crude but effective icy weapon. 

It was malformed, far from the perfection of the ice blade he could manifest in his transformed state, but it provided him with a more formidable weapon than a mere dagger.

"Take Qhorin and make for the cave at the hill's base. I'll handle these wights," Gale instructed as he left Qhorin and charged headlong at the oncoming horde of undead creatures.

"Take care of Qhorin. I'll cover you," Benjen commanded as he swiftly positioned himself in front of Qhorin's sled.

"Join the Night's Watch, they said. It'll be better than poverty, they said..." Edd grumbled, voicing his discontent, yet he adhered to Benjen's directive. He sheathed his sword and clutched the dragon glass in one hand while gripping the sled's handle with the other.

"My poor legs..." he muttered, his legs protesting the unaccustomed exertion as he broke into a run toward the cave's entrance.

As Gale encountered the relentless charge of the undead creatures, his iceblade became a swift, deadly blur. He skillfully decapitated every wight unfortunate enough to be within striking distance. 

The eyes of two rangers, Benjen and Edd, struggled to keep pace with his lightning-fast movements. It was evident that Gale had become significantly faster and stronger than during their initial confrontation with the wights.

...

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