Her father is awake when she comes downstairs, yawning and rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. He sits at the table with his hands folded, watching her every move, and Catilyn knows she’s in trouble. It can’t be too bad; there’s food on the table, fresh ham and bread and jam, and he wouldn’t have cooked if things were too bad. She trips on her chair as she tries to sit down. She’s thirteen, and her body’s started growing, legs stretching out almost overnight, and she’s lost much of the coordination she used to have. Her father, at least, has the decency to pretend not to notice.
“Yer mother an’ I were talkin’.” He starts, leaning back in his chair and watching her eat.
“News to me. Thought you two were still at each other’s throats.”
She knows she’s caught him off-guard. They like to think they’re good at hiding their fights when she’s supposed to be in bed, but she’s been crawling in and out of her window for months now. She hears everything. Her mother wants to learn to use a sword, her father says that’s not a woman’s place. Her mother snaps that he’s letting Cat learn, and he shouts back that it’s only until she can be married off or she outgrows it. Then her mother, caught in her rage, lets loose the secret that she and Cat have kept for two years now.
He clears his throat. “We...don’ always ’gree on things. Bu’ we both jus’ want what’s best for ye’.”
Cat’s never spoken like her father. She’s got the accent, sure, but her mother’s proper enough that it’s never been that bad. “This goin’ somewhere? Jon wants me an’ Rich up at the Folly. Wolves havin’ babies again.”
“That time o’ year, I guess. Ye’ heard ’bout Sara Bailey? She’s ’round yer age.” He watches her carefully, dark green eyes narrowing across the table. Dry lips purse in disapproval as she dragged her sleeve across her mouth, shrugging.
“Not since she got sold down t’ Combe.” Cat snaps, standing and leaving her plate on the table. Her father stands as well, blocking her path to the door. She ducks past him just enough to snatch up her sword from its resting place against the wall. “Can I go now?”
“M’not done talkin’.”
“You gonna try an’ stop me from goin’?” She crosses her arms, shoulders drawing up to try and meet her father’s height. Even if she had his complexion, she had her mother’s build, a woman of the Marc who’d never left Bree--although how she’d gotten there in the first place was anyone’s guess.
He slams his hand onto the door frame in response. “Yer mother an’ I were talkin’. Sara came up, an’ I got t’ thinkin’, ain’t it funny she’s havin’ a kid, but you an’ yer mom swear ye can’t yet?”
She finally starts to realize what the conversation is about, and the fear sets in behind her eyes. This was the day she didn’t want to happen. “Sara just bloomed earlier than me, s’all. S’why her parents married her off so early.”
“See, yer mother tol’ me different. Tol’ me two years now, y’coulda--”
She starts shouting over him, their voices mixing together.
“I don’t wanna have a baby! ’Sides, none o’ the men ’round here’d marry me, anyway!”
“Th’ agreement was ’til ye turned into a--”
“M’not givin’ up my sword!”
“Ye’ll do as I say!”
Her mother comes stumbling down the stairs next, combing her hair over her shoulder with her fingers. She’s nearing her thirtieth year and her hair’s fading quickly to gray. She blinks blearily blue eyes between her daughter and her husband. “Catilyn? What’s going on?”
They both turn to look at her, tears threatening to spill out of Cat’s eyes and complete frustration written on her father’s face. Mina Baker freezes for a moment on the stairs. Then she sweeps through the room like a tempest, radiating power and energy, and her husband moves well out of her path.
“Catilyn will train until she decides not to,” She orders, wiping at her daughter’s eyes with her sleeve. “And you and I will discuss this at a later time.”
Cat takes the chance to run out the door, sprinting for the Folly ruins as quick as she can. The boys meet her on the road, already well on their way when she slams into them, distraught as she tries to explain the earlier conversation. Eventually, they sit her down under one of the trees, and both commence to pacing.
“I gotta leave.” She sighs, dropping her head into her hands. “Maybe if I leave, nobody’ll go lookin’, if you two help.”
Richard, two years her senior with a tongue as sharp as his knife, only scoffs. “Where y’gonna go?”
“Bree.”
“S’only a few hours’ ride.” Jon interjects, running a hand through his hair. Sixteen, but Cat can see the weight of the world on him then, as the guard captain’s son. He winces, whatever was coming next bringing him almost physical pain to suggest. “Me or Rich could marry you.”
“That’s not solvin’ the problem, Jon, that’s jus’ makin’ it worse.” Cat sticks her tongue out at him, turning in the grass to stare towards the road into Combe. “Bet girls in Bree don’t have to deal with this.”
Richard snickers. “Th’ girls in Bree got their own problems.”
Cat pushes herself up to her feet, dusting her legs off. “I made up my mind, an’ you two can’t do nothin’ to change it. M’goin’ to Bree, tonight. ’Fore my dad can find somebody to sell me off t’.”
Both the boys nod, and all three start back towards Archet’s gates. The wolves and their cubs will be there the next day--Catilyn won’t. Her father’s at the shop when they get to her home, and her mother’s gone somewhere; between the three of them, they get her bag packed and strapped onto one of Richard’s father’s horses before the sun goes down. And, as soon as the town has gone to sleep, she crawls out of her window for the last time. Richard and Jon open the gates for her, while she says her good-byes to any of the others who took her seriously enough to show up. It isn’t the first time she’s threatened or tried to run away.
It’s well dark by the time she gets to Bree’s gates, and she’s left to sleep on the side of the road until morning; the guard’s not inclined to let another little beggar girl in. She supposes that, looking back, she really should have turned around and gone home then, or perhaps even had the good sense to realize that this wasn’t going to work. But as soon as the gates open, she takes the horse by the reins and leads it in, a little thing swallowed in a big city.
