Across the green fields the mist rises
Banners stretched taught by the wind
A wolf howls
Thus the day begins

by Howling Mad

Now two children danced across the godswood, hooting at one another as they dueled with broken branches. The girl was the older and taller of the two. Arya! Bran thought eagerly, as he watched her leap up onto a rock and cut at the boy. But that couldn’t be right. If the girl was Arya, the boy was Bran himself, and he had never worn his hair so long. And Arya never beat me playing swords, the way that girl is beating him. She slashed the boy across his thigh, so hard that his leg went out from under him and he fell into the pool and began to splash and shout. “You be quiet, stupid,” the girl said, tossing her own branch aside. “It’s just water. Do you want Old Nan to hear and run tell Father?” She knelt and pulled her brother from pool, but before she got him out again, the two of them were gone.

You have a wildness in youchild. ‘The Wolf Blood’, my lord father used to call it. Lyanna had a touch of it, and my brother Brandon more than a touch. It brought them both to an early grave. Lyanna might have carried a sword, if my lord father had allowed it. You remind me of her. You even look like her.

The Wolf and the Crannogman went to war
On a beautiful white-gold horse
They took some honey, and plenty of money
To see them through the worst.
The Wolf looked up to the stars above
And sang to a small guitar
'Oh, lovely Howland, oh Howland my friend,
What a wonderful Howland you are!
You are,
You are!
What a wonderful Howland you are!’

Howland said to the Wolf, ‘You honourable fool!
But how brilliantly sweet you sing
Oh tell me your secret, I swear I will keep it
But what should we do about him?’
They rode away, for a year and a day
To the land where Winterfell stands
And in the godswood, the Old Gods stood
Whispering softly to them a plan,
A plan,
A plan,
Whispering softly to them a plan.

'Dear gods, are you mad? My head will be had!'
'The boy, he is all that matters.'
The Old Gods decided, it’d be best to hide him
'But be sure nobody natters!'
The young baby, passed as a wolf, maybe
The old gods’ plan might possibly work
So off they went, and to the Wolf the Fish bent
And in Winterfell the boy now lurks
Now lurks,
Now lurks,
And in Winterfell the boy now lurks.

by Dracarya

The lonely wolf

"If only, if only", the lonely wolf cried
"My pack would come home and stay with me this night"
She sits in the snow, forlorn and lonely
And cries to the moon, “If only, if only”

by Dark Night Full of Ninjas

The Whispering Woods

The silent watchers in the trees,Observe their prey akin to beasts,While a mother stands alone and sees,The gods of death begin their feasts.
For like the wind, the wolves do strike,Upon their prey, caught off guard,With claws of steel, sword and pike,They aim to kill, swift and hard.
The Kingslayer and Young Wolf meet,With nameless faces in between,Till one is thrown at the others feet,Bereft of sword, the edge still keen.
A first victory for the Northern King,Though at great cost to closest friends,Where armour, sword and shield ring,And echo until the battle ends.
The Wolf, he stands above his prize,The Lion, bound, chained in defeat,Glaring up with baleful eyes,Still mighty, lying at his feet.
A mother cries tears of relief,To see her pup, dark and grim,Yet worries as she sees his grief,For those who fell defending him.
The Wood stands silent,still, watchful once more,But for the wind, he who paves,His way through the trees, empty save for,The lonely plot of unmarked graves.

by JCooper

The Whispering Woods

The silent watchers in the trees,
Observe their prey akin to beasts,
While a mother stands alone and sees,
The gods of death begin their feasts.

For like the wind, the wolves do strike,
Upon their prey, caught off guard,
With claws of steel, sword and pike,
They aim to kill, swift and hard.

The Kingslayer and Young Wolf meet,
With nameless faces in between,
Till one is thrown at the others feet,
Bereft of sword, the edge still keen.

A first victory for the Northern King,
Though at great cost to closest friends,
Where armour, sword and shield ring,
And echo until the battle ends.

The Wolf, he stands above his prize,
The Lion, bound, chained in defeat,
Glaring up with baleful eyes,
Still mighty, lying at his feet.

A mother cries tears of relief,
To see her pup, dark and grim,
Yet worries as she sees his grief,
For those who fell defending him.

The Wood stands silent,still, watchful once more,
But for the wind, he who paves,
His way through the trees, empty save for,
The lonely plot of unmarked graves.

by JCooper

Arya, the night wolf
by Dena 
(I’ll try to make one of each Stark children after the weekend) 

Arya, the night wolf

by Dena 

(I’ll try to make one of each Stark children after the weekend)