3.
Ser Waymar’s horse rears back on its hind legs, throwing its rider to the ground before galloping after the first horse.
Gared struggles to keep his own horse under control. Ser Waymar stands unsteadily, brushing the snow from his cloak.
WILL (terrified)
Gods...
He’s staring into the darkness at the edge of the clearing. Ser Waymar turns to see what the young tracker sees: a shadow emerging from the forest.
A figure steps into the moonlight, tall and gaunt, with flesh pale as milk. It slides toward the rangers on silent feet.
Its armor appears to be carved from ice. Its sword is translucent, a shard of crystal so thin it almost seems to vanish when seen edge-on.
Ser Waymar’s voice cracks like a boy’s:
SER WAYMAR Stay where you are!
The OTHER keeps coming. Ser Waymar draws his sword with trembling hands. Will, standing near the fire pit, and Gared, still on horseback, draw their own swords.
The Other halts. For the first time we see its eyes, bluer than any human eyes, a blue that burns like ice.
They emerge silently from the shadows, on all sides of the clearing. Five of them... six... seven... their strange swords shimmering in the moonlight.
Gared can no longer control his panicked horse; it bolts from the clearing, ignoring its rider’s commands.
The Others watch Gared flee. They turn back to Ser Waymar and Will and begin to advance on the young men.
As the circle closes, the Others speak to each other in a language we’ve never heard, with voices like cracking ice.
Waymar and Will stand together, class distinctions forgotten, two boys about to die. They steady their sword hands and mutter quick prayers as the Others descend upon them.
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