The brazier in the tent had long burned out. Only the last crimson ember stubbornly flickered in darkness.
Cold seeped through cracks in the heavy elephant-hide tent. But couldn't disturb the intertwined warmth on the bed.
Lynn's breathing was steady and long. Chest rose and fell rhythmically with each breath. He seemed to sleep deeply.
In his arms, Ygritte—the wildcat who'd been all claws and fangs during the day, wanting to trample the world—now lay quiet as a cub curled by a fire.
Suddenly, those long lashes fluttered like butterfly wings.
Ygritte slowly opened her eyes. Those blue eyes—still bright in darkness—held no trace of drowsy confusion. Instead, they were terrifyingly awake.
She didn't move. Just listened to Lynn's steady heartbeat.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Each beat was like a war drum striking her soul's depths. Heavy. Powerful. Made Ygritte feel unprecedented security.
Is he asleep? He's asleep!
This realization—like a stone dropped into a calm lake—sent ripples through Ygritte's heart. Her courage grew with those ripples.
Ygritte carefully lifted her head from Lynn's arm. The movement was gentle as not wanting to disturb falling snow.
Fiery red hair cascaded down like a waterfall. A few playful strands fell, lightly brushing Lynn's cheek.
Lynn's eyebrow twitched slightly.
Ygritte's heart leapt to her throat. Her entire body froze.
But Lynn just rolled over onto his back. Breathing remained steady.
Ygritte exhaled deeply.
In the darkness, Ygritte's lips curved uncontrollably upward. Showed a sly smile like a little fox.
She propped herself up. Like a she-wolf surveying territory in the night. Looked down at this man who belonged to her.
Lynn's facial features appeared even more profound in dim shadows. High nose bridge. Lips pressed tight. Even in sleep, he carried inviolable authority.
Really inviolable?
Ygritte stared, somewhat entranced.
She remembered just now. She'd had a dream. That cold, desperate dream full of wind, snow, and loneliness. Also remembered that light that saved her from endless darkness and cold.
Lynn. From beginning to end, it was him.
An indescribable impulse—mixed with love, possession, and gratitude—grew wildly in her heart. Burned until her mouth was dry.
Ygritte leaned down. Warm breath gently puffed against Lynn's ear. As if testing something. She blew softly.
Lynn still didn't react.
Ygritte grew bolder.
She extended her tongue tip. Like a curious kitten. Gently, tentatively approached Lynn's earlobe.
Lynn's body tensed imperceptibly for an instant. But quickly relaxed again.
Ygritte didn't notice. She only felt: this man's taste was sweeter than the fattest venison she'd ever eaten.
She wasn't satisfied with this.
Her hand—calloused from years of drawing bows—began roaming restlessly over Lynn's body.
Lynn felt that touch completely different from Southern noble ladies' silk-smooth hands. Carried a hint of roughness. A hint of wildness. Each pass was like marking him with her brand in the most primal way.
Ygritte stroked Lynn's solid chest. Felt the explosive power contained beneath. She traced his firm abs. Those clear contours made her fingertips outline them again and again.
In Free Folk beliefs: if you like someone, steal them, possess them.
She couldn't steal the golden princess's status. Couldn't steal the she-wolf's betrothal.
But now, in this tent belonging only to them. On this night when Lynn was "completely unaware." She could steal.
She'd use her own way to make this man completely hers.
Lynn's body began heating up. Breathing grew somewhat rapid.
Ygritte thought he was having some dream. Her smile deepened.
Her movements grew bolder. Like a child tasting honey for the first time. Greedily taking more.
Her kisses traveled from his earlobe downward. Across his chiseled jawline. Landed on his rolling Adam's apple.
Those kisses carried a hint of clumsiness, awkwardness. Yet brimmed with undeniable possessiveness.
"You're mine..."
Ygritte pressed her cheek against Lynn's chest. She listened to that increasingly violent heartbeat. Murmured in a voice only she could hear. Again and again:
"Only mine..."
Lynn kept his eyes tightly shut. Brow slightly furrowed. As if trapped in some intense dream.
Only he knew what sweet torture he was enduring.
This wildcat is playing with fire!
He could clearly feel every inch of her body's curves. Could smell that unique scent from her hair—mixed with pine needles and bonfire. Could feel that heart—completely open to him, without reservation.
He could immediately "wake up." Then turn the tables. Let Ygritte understand what real "control" meant.
But he didn't. He chose to continue "sleeping."
He wanted this proud, stubborn, tough-talking but soft-hearted wildcat to think this was all her little secret.
Indulge her. Allow her.
The night was still long.
Ygritte's "theft" grew increasingly brazen. Like a child with a beloved toy. Exploring tirelessly.
She was no longer satisfied with Lynn's chest and abs. Turned toward...
Dawn.
Until the horizon showed the first pale light.
A sliver of brightness seeped through the tent's cracks. Illuminated the disheveled furs inside.
Ygritte jolted like a cat whose tail was stepped on. She saw the light coming through. Panic flashed across her face.
Dawn! So fast!
Ygritte scrambled—practically on all fours—off Lynn's body. Moved as agilely as a startled snow hare.
She retreated to the bed's far side at maximum speed. Wrapped herself tightly in fur blankets. Only fiery red disheveled hair visible.
Then she turned over. Faced away from Lynn. Began pretending to sleep.
After a while—
Ygritte let out an exaggerated yawn. Stretched dramatically. As if just waking from deep sleep.
"Fuck... it's morning?"
She rubbed her eyes. Muttered. Voice carried its usual crudeness.
She sneaked a glance at Lynn beside her.
Lynn was also "just waking." Seemed completely unaware of last night's events.
Ygritte's heart finally settled back into her stomach.
She threw off the blanket. In front of Lynn, walked naked and brazenly off the bed. Began donning her familiar leather armor.
Throughout, she deliberately didn't look at Lynn again. As if one more glance would expose her guilty conscience.
Lynn observed with interest for a while.
She really has no hair...
Outside.
When they exited the tent one after another, the camp had awakened.
Wildlings gathered around newly lit fires. Laughed loudly. Shared white bread sent by House Lannister.
The air filled with roasted meat's aroma and ale's fragrance.
Myrcella had risen early. She stood not far away. Still wearing Lynn's thick bearskin cloak.
Morning sunlight bathed her golden hair. Enveloped her in soft radiance.
She seemed utterly incongruous with this rough, savage environment. Like a golden rose lost on the tundra. Beautiful, fragile. Yet with astonishing resilience.
Seeing Lynn and Ygritte exit the same tent, Myrcella's green eyes showed no ripple.
She simply bowed slightly. Performed an impeccable curtsy.
"Lord Lynn."
Her voice was like a morning stream. Cool and pleasant.
Ygritte's steps unconsciously paused.
She looked at this golden-haired princess. At her innate nobility and composure. Then thought of her own last night's... unseemly "theft."
A nameless emotion surged from her heart. That emotion was complex. Pride. Satisfaction.
But more—something even she couldn't articulate... guilt?
As if she'd stolen from Myrcella something that should have belonged to Myrcella.
Ygritte pursed her lips. Forcibly suppressed that inappropriate emotion.
She lifted her chin toward Myrcella. Didn't provoke as usual. Didn't greet either.
Just snorted lightly. Walked straight toward the wildling warriors distributing weapons.
She had to begin fulfilling her "rebel leader" duties.
[END CHAPTER 207]
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