“Come. We’re going hunting.”

These were not the words Casella was expecting the moment she returned to the Spottswood. Dusty from the ride, Nymella already having made excuses to go and bathe, she found herself turning her horse about as her brother, cousin, and their retainers rode quietly past her towards the woods. Lywen was looking unusually content at the prospect, too. He had always hated hunting. Father had taken him every moon’s turn for five years, stopping only when a Stormlander put a knife through his throat. Her brother called it, ‘the only gift of the family massacre’.

The morning sun streams across the light woodland as they rode in silence, along recent tracks towards Fools Grove. She could honestly say that she’d missed the woods. The Reach was cold, and as much as she’d enjoyed her time there… there was only so much abuse even she could take.

Leading his horse gently to a stop, Lywen had started giving instructions. He’d done this before, and recently too. Now she was nervous. He had… he had a lot on his plate as it was, this was not like him. To her relief, he turned in her direction and raised his voice.

“Casella and I will start on the eastern ridge. We shall rejoin at suns height and discuss our findings. Good hunting, all.”

As the group began to disperse, Treman caught her eye and gave her what she swore was a sympathetic look. Arse. “I suppose Ser Dayne didn’t need a paramour after all, eh Treman?”

The boy riles but Ser Lywen was already riding between them, lightly motioning her to follow. He hadn’t even put on his perfume today, nor his light silks.

The silence continued as they reached the ridge, her concern overriding her desperate need to break the quiet. Far below, the Spottswood stretched far across the coastline, light wooded areas building to the deep and dangerous thicket that was the heart of the place, far inland. Feeling the beast beneath her grunt uncomfortably, she slowed to a stop and swung down to the dirt.

“She’s been riding all morning. She wants to return to the keep and sleep, poor thing.”

Ser Lywen, turning and sighing in the saddle, looks down at his incredibly unsubtle sister. Casella raises her hands. “You don’t want to speak to me, that’s fine. We don’t have to talk.”

His voice dry and quiet: “I do not want to be angry at you.”

Dust rises as she takes an urgent step forward, voice raised. “That’s why we’re hunting. You’re avoiding this. You’re going to shout at me when we get back. Why? Was it the axe? Was it Nymella? Or that Gardner I spat at?”

He motions for quiet and she sighs at him. “Fine. But I don’t like this. This is what they would have wanted you to do.”

“They would have wanted me to marry you off, Cass. After however much you spent, they would make it back with some Tyroshi merchant’s dowry.”

Dust rises as she turns abruptly, finger raised. “So you do want to talk about it? I remade our heritage! You want to be a proper Lord, you need an air of legend.”

“I have been writing letters for three months about Perros' ransom, detailing how poor our finances are, and then I hear you have been spending all of those ‘poor finances’ on new family heirlooms. This will make us a mockery.”

“Let them laugh, they’ll be cheering our name when I take Port Wrath with a golden axe in hand.” She watches with a satisfied grin as his expression turns slightly. A glimmer of curiosity.

“You bought a solid gold axe?”

“I bought a gold tinted Qohorik Steel magical axe. From genuine beard monks. There was one of those temple guards that Oberyn talked about in the room when I made the sale. Sapphire Rosette, with white gold backing.”

Ser Lywen turns away, looking out across the great expanse of the Spottswood. They let the silence rule the land for a moment.

“I am having you confined to the Keep till the Sunspear Tourney. With the exception of hunts, so you can practice riding.” Hesitating a moment, he managed to make brief eye contact with her. “I have never seen you use an axe. If you are not better than me with one by the time it gets here then I will be wielding it.”

Smiling, she offers a nod, and walks back towards her horse. Riding together down the slope, Casella breaths a sigh of relief and finally began to enjoy the summer air. A more familiar brother turns back to her, an unrestrained grin decorating his face.

“Now, sister. What exactly did you say to the Gardner Prince?”

“‘I don’t see any ‘Steady Hand’ here, is this all the Reach has? Rawr rar rar!’ Then I spat at him.”

Far away, through the dense foliage, young Treman Sand could swear the trees were laughing at him.