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[smormont]

The lighting was dim, as she preferred it to be—bright flames tended to draw not just her eyes away but her thoughts as well. Salem returned to the small room with a bowl in one hand, the water glimmering in the faint light it caught with the shadows of rose pedals swaying on the surface. She slipped onto the side of the bed, cushioned under her slight weight, where she was met with a gruff groan of resistance from its current occupant.

“The first time I did this—“ She mused with a smirk tugging at the end of her lips, “I thought I broke the arm entirely. My cousin nearly fainted from the stress of watching me.”

The humor of such a memory of course was lost on her current patient who only seemed distressed at the thought, but he looked more confused than frightened when he slurred, “Mmmmouf’s goin’ numb.”

“Most of your body too, I imagine. Here, drink this.” She offered, assisting the injured man in drinking down the rosewater when he fumbled to do it himself. “You won’t swallow your tongue, but if you bite it off that’s just one more thing for me to patch up.”

His grunt of indignation was met with a stiff finger against his chest, “And that costs extra.” She added, not all jest when she leaned the rest of her weight forward and he crumpled back against the mattress.

Cracking her knuckles, Salem rose and began to clear the bedside table, in case of any accidents. She spent enough time grinding flowers and berries at a mortar pestle, the last thing she needed was a clumsy arm striking out and smashing all her hard work onto the floor in a flurry of herbs and glass. Another lesson passed down from her cousin during these long Winter years: the tonics and brews preserved so much better when stored away in their own glass vials.

One of the many teachings Salem had attended.

At the end of the last Summer, and yet at the start of her 10th year, she been initially drawn to the art of healing. Naturally she leaned toward her family to offer a guiding hand in the craft, her cousin having been the folk healer among them was the obvious mentor. And yet despite her cousin Ruby’s knowledge when it came to training her hands to the task of healing, Salem had initially balked at the realization that most of her education should come from books and recipes.

Placing a tentative foot into the Maester’s library it became clear that this was nothing like her initial education as a stablehand, and that sliding by on her disjointed illiteracy wouldn’t quite work. Despite her shortcomings, Mormonts are a determined breed, and while she didn’t like all of it, she was set on her mission. Too many times before had the little bear been forced to stand by and watch while her friends and family shuddered in pain she was helpless to aide with.

But now in this current moment she knew exactly what to do. Considering the sight before her with a small tilt of her head before leaning forward and grasping his arm between both of her hands, her grip was not gentle even when he jostled at the sudden pain. She was swift in her method of pressing a foot against his torso and suddenly pulling with a committed strength that didn’t give until she felt the joint pop into place and the tension in her motion abruptly released.

“Don’t move that arm.” She warned, when she let go turning away from his strangled moaning to reference the anatomy book splayed out on the stool beside her. Brushing over his arm with light finger tips it seemed like everything was where it was supposed to be, no longer looking limp and mangled along the bedsheets but nonetheless she thought it best to leave it settled.

“Should’ve waited for the fucking maester.” He hissed between his teeth, pressing his skull against the lump of feathers they considered a pillow.

“Get over it and thank me properly before I decide that your other shoulder is dislocated too.” Salem advised smoothly, the warmth in her vivid eyes darkening into a stark chill.

In the time between now and when Salem had started her education she had grown as young girls tended to do, although she’d yet to reach a size that could be intimidating when compared to the man she now faced. But all the same, she held the ferocity of a bear, her expression threatening that she might just tear him limb from limb if he continued to trample on the short leash of her temper.

Still he pressed, “But I guess that’s the treatment I expect from someone they call the Bearwitch.”

“The Stormlands maester taught me much, let me use his medical books and helped my…. technique, but I guess you can say I’m not quite a ‘by the book’ kind of girl.” She explained with a sigh, snapping the anatomy book shut although reluctant to move it back into its proper place amongst the shelves. In fact many things seemed out of place in her small medicine shack, with herbs and small animal bones scattered around scented candles that mingled in the frigid air.

“I can see that.” Was his simple reply, tenderly moving a gold piece from his pocket to the bedside table where Salem readily snapped it up into her palm.

“Pleasure doing business with you.”

[smormont]

Winter 260 AC, North of Nowhere

The old wetnurse settled down on rickety stool, close to where Salem was sitting. By this time the child had been lulled into a state of half sleep, startled awake by the creaking of wood under new weight. Her sister had insisted she stay with the horses, who were on the brink of birth any moment, although it had been hours now since she’d first sat down to wait them out. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, they darted sideways to see Nan pulling some sewing materials from a basket Salem had deemed endless long ago, whatever Nan needed she always seemed to have in that small inconspicuous basket.

“How about we work on straightening those stitches of yours while we wait?” She suggested, not unkindly but very resolute when she passed the pattern cut pieces of cloth towards Salem, who waved them off with both hands.

“I want to work on more saddles.” Came her defiant reply, both arms automatically tucking around her chest in rejection of the tools. She knew though that the leather working required for the saddles she’d been taught needed a larger workspace, with room for metal buckles, and equipment big enough for the horses she now waited out. In truth neither saddles nor clothes held her interest, and tailoring itself was quite obnoxious for the youngest of the Mormont brood.

The littlest she-bear even held little patience for her tasks around the stables, insisting that she rather be out in the wilderness hunting, but even that took a certain amount of forbearance she’d yet to grow into. To compromise it was insisted that she first learn how to tame the animals, for if she understood them well enough to befriend them, then hunting would come naturally. Still, her eagerness was at times her downfall, at first rushing up on skittish horses and shooting at lumbering beasts from far too close a range.

In time she realized the lightness of her footsteps could be used to sneak up on wild mares without having them kick the head from her shoulders, and that perhaps she should leave the untamed bears to her mother and older sister. Getting her to stay, breed, and cull the animals she brought home though—that was the challenge her family now currently faced, unable to deal with the amount of strays she came back with now that she had been let loose to tame.

In had come Nan with her needles, leather, and string; seen only as distraction and a burden upon Salem. No one else in the family knew how to stitch, she didn’t see why she was being forced to into the lessons, ever oblivious she had an animal hoarding problem. But it did work in their efforts to temper her bad habits, Salem having enough pride in her work that she seemed bristled whenever she was told her pieces were less than perfect. If only to prove Nan wrong, she pushed herself into the leatherworking, even if her seams always seemed to be crooked and choppy.

Her young hand had mastered the basics, but still the old nurse prodded her to hone the trade. But stubborn Salem could not always be baited into distractions, so she simply huffed and returned to staring blankly at the pregnant horses, not at all looking forward to the long process of helping the foals nurse when they finally popped.

The old woman might’ve pressed further, but instead resolved to simply tucking the materials away back into her basket. “How about a story then?” To which Salem gave no immediate answer.

“You know they say when you were born that they heard a small growl before you even took your first cry.”

“That’s a lie.” Came her sudden reply, sitting up in her chair.

“And how do you know? You were only a babe.”

“Because that story suggests I cry, and I never cry.” She lied smoothly, eyes furrowing with her own denial. It was true that often Salem would crush her tongue between her teeth in an effort to stop a storm of tears from her eyes, for whatever reason had upset her, but like most children she was not immune to her emotions and felt them whole. Still, she liked to think she did not weep over petty things. She admired her parents, Reyes and Lori Mormont, for their strength; her eldest sister, Alexxy, for her fierceness; and her older sister, Selina, for her perseverance. And in simpler terms, until she grew into these admirable traits, Salem was content to fake it.

Besides quiet amused laughter the old woman didn’t retort, content to work some knitting yarn around her hands. In the silence Salem could only brood to which she suddenly burst in her quiet simmering, “Is it true we’re going back to Bear Island?”

“Aye, you’ll be packing soon enough I think and leave this village once Summer comes.”

A pregnant pause fell between them where Salem contemplated what this meant. She may not have been born on Bear Island, but she was a child of the North, and like the other Mormonts she’d been lead to believe that Winterfell might grant them the land of their ancestors once again. Still the uncertainly of it did slightly concern her, if only because their home was foreign to a child of only nine who’d never set foot off the mainland. What if she didn’t like it? Sharing a look between them, only one thing was clear: Salem wouldn’t know until she knew.