[Halloween] Terror of the Toys

[_kinginthenorth]

Reynald Jon Stark has had a very exciting, very tiring day. In the morning, after breakfast, he ran around in circles until he got dizzy and fell over. Then he went searching for treasure, a successful quest in which he found an abandoned bird's nest, a small army of ants marching determinedly in formation toward an anthill, and a shiny blue

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[tooktheblack]

Summerfell, while a roomy enough residence, wasn't so large that Jon couldn't hear the shrieks of Reynald and considering Reynald wasn't normally a fussy child, hearing that set him instantly on guard. "Ghost, with me," he managed, getting out of bed and making his way to find his nephew.

The toys he'd been given at the strange festival the week before seemed to all have come to life and several look vicious. Jon was mostly concerned with keeping Reynald from harm.

"Reynald?" Jon said lowly, drawing his sword and trying to distract the toys come to life. "Reynald, stay where you are. Nothing can hurt you."

Not on his watch.

[_kinginthenorth]

Grey Wind is already at the door, crouched low to the ground with his tail straight behind him, lips pulled back in a growl. The toys haven't yet attacked, or done more than move; it may be the sight or scent of the wolves keeping them at bay--so why have they begun moving now? Grey Wind barks to Ghost, and it sounds almost like a general giving orders. He watches them, suspicious, ready to strike, but unsure what to target first.

[tooktheblack]

Jon moved to try and corner the toys between him (with his back to Reynald) and the two direwolves, imagining they could handle most things themselves. He wished he'd thought to bring a torch, though, and hoped this would do.

The monkey sunk its teeth into his leg and while he was in leathers, he could still feel it pierce his skin.

"Sometimes I really, really hate this island," he muttered, pulling at it and swinging Longclaw in a low, ineffectual arc to keep the others from breaking his position and getting to Reynald.

[lonewolflives]

Nymeria, like Arya in some ways, did not always stay close to home. She'd spent years running wild, and even years on the island hadn't entirely corrected this, perhaps because it was, for all the efforts of the people on it, still a wild kind of place.

But she'd spent those years building a pack, and was a different kind of independant to Arya, not holding herself separate in the same way. And at the first sign of distress she was a blur of grey fur bursting into the room with the others, moving to cover the other flank, to form a semi-circle around the toys.

Arya herself was moments behind. Reynald was shrieking, after all.

"What in the seven hells?"