Capítulo 3: Chapter 3: Craster’s Keep
Clark
The wind howled through the wilderness as Clark, Tormund, and Ygritte trudged through the snow. The storm that had started the night before was now in full force, its icy fingers biting into Clark's skin even through his suit. Despite his invulnerability, the harsh elements of this strange world still made him feel an uncomfortable sense of isolation. The relentless wind, the snow, and the endless stretch of white wilderness were all so alien to him.
The wildlings, on the other hand, moved with practiced ease, navigating through the snow like they had lived in these conditions their entire lives. Tormund, with his towering figure, led the way with a gruff determination, while Ygritte stayed close behind, her keen eyes constantly scanning the surroundings.
The sound of the wind and the crunch of their footsteps were the only things that filled the silence. There were no birds or other wildlife, just the eerie quiet of a place untouched by the comforts of civilization. Clark couldn't help but think back to Earth, to his home, to the people he had left behind. How had he ended up here? Why was he here? And more importantly, how could he get back?
But those questions would have to wait. For now, the wildlings were his only chance at survival—and his only potential lead to understanding what had happened.
"We're almost there," Tormund's deep voice broke through the silence. "Just a little further."
Clark's eyes narrowed. The constant wind had made it difficult to see, but ahead, through the swirling snow, he could make out the outline of a structure. It was crude, rough, and squat against the desolate landscape. As they drew closer, the details became more apparent. A series of low buildings surrounded a central stone keep, a place that seemed as old and weathered as the land itself. This was Craster's Keep.
Clark's stomach churned as he took in the sight of it. It was nothing like any fortress or settlement he had seen before. The keep was small, uninviting, and surrounded by a mixture of huts and makeshift structures that looked hastily built. It wasn't a place of safety—it was a place of survival.
"Welcome to Craster's Keep," Tormund muttered, his voice grim. "Don't expect much."
Ygritte's eyes were wary, her hand still on her bow as they crossed into the open courtyard. The snow was thick here, and it felt even colder than the wilderness outside. As they neared the entrance, Clark could see a pair of wildling guards standing by the door, their expressions hard and unfriendly.
Tormund spoke briefly to one of the guards, exchanging a few curt words. The guard eyed Clark suspiciously but didn't protest. After a tense moment, he motioned for them to enter. The door creaked open, and they stepped inside.
The warmth of the hearth hit them almost immediately, though it was still far from comfortable. The dimly lit interior was cramped, with low ceilings and crude furnishings. Smoke curled up from the fire in the center of the room, but it did little to dispel the chill that still clung to everything.
There was a tense atmosphere inside the keep. The men and women who lived here moved quietly, their faces etched with hard lines, as though they had seen too much of life's darker sides. Clark didn't have to be a mind reader to know that the people here were hardened by years of survival in a world that seemed determined to break them.
At the far end of the room, sitting near the fire, was Craster. The man looked as imposing as the keep itself—rough, uncaring, and exuding an air of cold authority. His shaggy hair and thick beard made him look even more like the savage he was reputed to be. His eyes flicked over the group briefly, taking in Clark with a mix of curiosity and suspicion.
"Who's this?" Craster asked, his voice low and gravelly.
"He's with us," Tormund replied curtly, his eyes hard. "For now."
Craster's lips curled into a sneer. "I don't like strangers," he muttered, but he didn't push further. He was a man who seemed to get what he wanted without asking too many questions.
Clark stood still, his gaze sweeping over the room. He could sense the tension in the air, the unease that rippled through the people in the keep. Something wasn't right here.
As Tormund, Ygritte, and the others moved to find a place to rest, Clark's eyes lingered on the women who were scattered about, cleaning or quietly watching the fire. They looked strangely subdued, their eyes hollow as if they had long since given up on hope.
Craster had made no attempt to acknowledge them. It was clear that they were mere servants in his eyes, and Clark could feel his anger rising at the thought of their captivity.
---
Tormund
Tormund set down his pack by the fire and turned to face Craster, his expression unreadable. He had never been fond of the man, but he had learned to tolerate him for survival's sake. The storm was bad, and there was nowhere else to go.
"We'll rest here for the night," Tormund said gruffly, trying to keep things civil. "But don't expect us to stay long. We've got our own business to attend to."
Craster grunted in acknowledgment but didn't seem particularly interested in their plans. "Fine by me. Just don't cause trouble," he said, his tone more threatening than welcoming.
Tormund nodded and glanced at Ygritte, who had already taken a seat near the fire, her eyes still sharp and cautious. He didn't need to say anything. They both knew that Craster's Keep wasn't a place to stay for long. Whatever Craster was hiding, whatever dark secrets this place held, they would find out eventually. But tonight wasn't the time.
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Ygritte
Ygritte couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong here. The keep was cold, the people were distant, and the women—always the women—seemed to be trapped in some dark, unspoken arrangement with Craster.
Her eyes flicked over the room again, taking in the faces of the people there. Some looked wary, others resigned. The children, too, were strangely quiet, their faces pinched with hunger and fear. They didn't look like they had known anything but hardship.
She could feel the tension in the air, the way the other wildlings kept their distance from her and Clark. They weren't sure what to make of him, and Ygritte wasn't sure either. There was something about him, something unnatural, that made her uneasy. He was strong, stronger than any man she had met before. And yet he wasn't like them. He was an outsider.
But what bothered her the most were the women. She had seen enough of this in her travels. Women like these, bound to cruel men like Craster. It made her skin crawl. She wanted to help them, but she didn't know how. Craster was a monster, but he held power here, and no one could challenge him without risking their lives.
As she sat by the fire, trying to stay warm, she couldn't shake the feeling that they had walked into a trap. Craster's Keep wasn't just a place of survival—it was a place of darkness, and they were now part of it.
---
Clark
As the night wore on, Clark felt the unease grow. There was something off about this place. Craster's Keep was more than just a refuge from the storm—it was a cage, a place where people were controlled and oppressed. Clark could sense the fear in the air, the desperation. These people were trapped in a cycle of violence and fear, and Craster was at the center of it all.
He needed to understand more about this place. What was going on here? What was Craster hiding?
As he sat by the fire, Clark's thoughts drifted back to the strange feeling he had experienced when he first arrived. He couldn't shake the sense that he wasn't alone. That something was watching him.
And just like that, it hit him: Craster knew more than he was letting on. He had to. The man had been here too long, and his cruelty wasn't just a result of survival instincts. There was something darker at play.
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