It was making out to be another unbearably humid day. The mist was rising off the water and the buzzing of insects was growing louder. Everything was vibrant, green, and alive. He sat there, watching his bobber rock over the ripples from a fish jumping in the distance, and muttered to himself. Of course there were fish here, but as luck would serve him, none were biting. There were much better spots to cast a line around here, but this was their spot. He sat on the edge of a deck belonging to a rickety old tree house, his forehead pressed against the worn and shabby railing. He was never a great fisherman, but he rest his finger under the line, waiting patiently, as he had been for years. The sun was rising higher in the sky, and he figured he could wait a few more minutes before he left back to the main house, but not terribly long as today was rather important and therefore busy.

Out here everything was untouched, aside from the massive weirwood in which they built their tree fort ages ago. It was about 10 feet off the ground, with two levels, the lower one being the deck he sat on, the upper being the actually walled and roofed part. He hadn't had the heart to go in there without her, so the deck remained his domain. Looking out over the water at a family of ducks waddling towards the reeds, he felt the line twitch. A few moments went by and he knew he had a bite when he felt it go taught and heard the hum of the reel. After a minute or so he saw the fish begin to surface, and pulled up. With a few more turns of the reel he saw it was a little brim, nothing more than bait. He unhooked and threw it back, and tossed the rest of his night crawlers over the edge as he stood up looking about aimlessly. He couldn't come out here without at least a bit of nostalgia and reminiscing, but he'd be lying to himself if he said that's not why he came in the first place. It was peaceful, the lapping of the water over the red banks, the scent of honeysuckle and its hordes of yellow and white blooms, the breeze rustling the endless green leaves above him. Rustling or any other mundane description never seemed to fit the red leaves of the weirwood though, that could only be described as whispering. When they discovered their sanctuary years ago, the little girl of his memories ran up and knelt in front of the tree, silent for what seemed like an eternity. Only until he stepped behind and placed a hand on her shoulder (garnering him a punch to the gut) did she turn away. The face staring back at him from the smooth bark was a pensive one, and looked slightly pained as the red tears of sap gathered in its eyes. At first it was unsettling to him, but the peace it brought over his feisty friend eventually began to work on him, and since then, he's held a sort of respect and awe for the tree.

He was jolted out of his thoughts as the railing cracked and rocked forward under his weight, and he added fixing that to his ever growing to-do list as he climbed down the ladder. A rung near the bottom broke and he hopped off with a grunt, adding that too. He turned to glance at the weirwood and froze. It's like it watched him, as always. A bird dove down in front of him and he snapped back to life. The john boat was moored on the shore a few feet away, tucked away behind the ancient willow tree and all its swaying branches. It was the only way to reach the sanctuary, or at least the only feasible one. All other directions were surrounded by dense forests bordered by swamps with their suspicious muck and boundless sinkholes.

He stepped in boat and grabbed the oars, rowing back out towards the creek and towards the Stark home. Gendry had worked there his whole life under the Starks. They were a family of old money, back from the cotton days, and had a magnificent mansion on a hill surrounded by miles of beautiful Georgia land. Behind the house was a smaller branch of the river that ran nearby, surrounded by old growth and miles of swamplands and marshes he used to explore as a child. As he saw the boat house and docks come into view he rowed a bit fast, excited by the events in the upcoming hours. Today was the day Arya Stark would return.