A building stood lonely against a mountain range. Huge white peaks and towering cliffs, each topped with deep snow. Running through the fifty or so long mountain range was a small path, the only road from Castermere to Chathlas; the most prosperous and most populous kingdom in the Seven Isles. On the edge of that road stood a fort, thick walls made of grey stone. It's name displayed it's purpose. First Watch. For many years, the First Watch had served its purpose, defending Cathlas against any enemies that tried to pass through from the West. Over the years, it had coined a phrase: First Watch, Last Haven. There were many traders who passed through to Castermere each season, all of which stayed the night, each leaving a name. 

Those who lived in such a fort were no soldiers, nor criminals. They were Winter's Children, orphans or sons whose parents struggled over the winter months. They were given to the Watchers for a better life, one of brotherhood and honour. If they survived the rough conditions below the Seven Hundred Peaks, of course. Many Winter's Children were sent along the road that disappeared into Castermere as scouts, each watching the road for rouges or Wargs. 

Three men walked along the road, hauling a mountain deer behind them. It would serve as dinner and breakfast tomorrow. They had a good hour before they reached their camp just off the road. With five mouths to feed, the deer would suit their needs just fine.