A voice boomed, echoing within the mind of the bear as it backed away from her, whining sadly. The creature had been attracted to her, just like most animals were, though she found it mildly irksome how some animals felt the need to attack her as if she was their long lost mother littermate. She blinked open her eyes, the pale grey refusing the male that reached out to her as her own brother touched a hand to her shoulder, clearly afraid to show weakness in front of the others. She looked at him, her gaze meeting his own, a small nod of encouragement to him. She would never be without him, but he must still grow into a strong Lord, so that Winterfell will never fall again.
Brandon, as well, had rushed to her side, large hands reaching down to gently lift the dark haired girl to her feet. For a man so large, towering over her and easily having twice the muscle mass, he was surprisingly gentle with her. It reminded her somewhat of when they were younger and she’d tripped over an uprooted root in the Godswood at home. The Baratheon’s had been visiting to celebrate the birth of her youngest sister, the small Lyanna now only three years old. They had not stayed long then, but Manasa had grown close with Lyanna Baratheon in a way she hoped to be with her own sister; in Brandon, she had seen both the stoic intimidation, and the soft smile he hid behind the bulk.
“Thank you Brandon.” Manasa looked at him gratefully, still flushed from the embarrassment and shock of her entrance into the room, the excitement of the bear and the mass of people in the room. She held on to his arm for a moment, regaining both her balance and her composure before giving him a small and shy smile. “I am alright. You need not worry Brandon.” She reassured him, seeing him nod before turning to the male who had snapped at her, his expression becoming grim and demanding. Brandon stood several inches taller than Tiras, his voice deeper and much like that of the young Lord that he was. Demanding an apology? The young lady nearly laughed allowed, having already gauged the boy as one who would never apologize, even when he was wrong.
The Stark refused to look at him again, instead ignoring him outright in favour of getting away from the door and the growing crowd. She stepped around the boys, settling on a small couch. Her dress pooled on the soft cushion beneath her, pulled up slightly to reveal her riding boots, though not showing her skin. She wore mostly black, embroidered with the greys and whites of a snowstorm, representing her homeland and House. Her mother had spent a long time finishing the dress, and she was happy to wear it in front of the other wards. It gave her some confidence to know that her mother was watching over her, even if she was far from the North.
“Lyanna! Come sit with me. We must catch up on our missing years.” Manasa called over to her friend, glancing over the Baratheon womans shoulder to look at the bastard Tyrell as she walked into the room. She held herself as if she was better than the rest of them, though her own family had sent her here in place of the heir. Was her simply expendable to them? Or did they think to defy the Dragon King. The man who rode on Drogon would not stand to be denied his request. Not without reason. After the Tyrell walked in there was a lapse, before another followed. He clearly wasn’t one of the wards, older and stronger than the rest of them. He rivalled even Brandon is height. She wondered who this one was, though she didn’t plan on speaking with him first; not with how close he was sticking to Iris Flowers.
Of course, Alyssa Arryn had to be the last to enter. Dressed in riding leathers, curls a mess as if a bird had been nesting in them on her journey here. Manasa looked over at the smaller and frail girl as she crossed her arms, seemingly pleased with her own wit. Unfortunately, that sarcastic humor was lacking in the skinchangers opinion. She had heard better lines come from sleeping squirrels.
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