𝒞REGAN 𝔖TARK, lord wolf of the north

The sun combined with the white fluffed thick snow coating the ground in Winterfell that became deeper every hour blinded all who looked out their windows, yet, the Wolf of the North had little problem as he walked through it leisurely. His boots crushed the ice that had built, his eyes squinting to follow the figure he had been ‘chasing.’

Giggles gave her away, very loud giggles, or perhaps the uncoordinated stumbling throughout the inches of snow, or perhaps— well, Cregan did not want to be mean to his lovely lady wife after all. She was a sweet little thing. He had also made her wear a lot of furs so she would not freeze, after she had purposed to play this ridiculous game that he hunted her through the gardens.

There was much back and forth, yes, she knew he was a hunter, yes, she knew how deep the snow was outside, yes, she knew she would probably whine and complain about how cold and wet it was and he would throw it in her face. But she still wished to do it, and what kind of husband would he be if he said no?

He found it very amusing actually, she was a giggly thing, not very stable on her feet, at least not at the moment when the snow dwarfed her waist. Cregan was the wolf, she was the prey.