I slept hard and woke up feeling charitable. I woke up with a buzz like wasps crawling beneath my skin. I heard his words and yours. Uncle was an important man.

Seemed like we’d need to go off the grid.

I left you shackled in bed and ripped Dad’s old truck into town. Had to visit Bronn first, who insisted he hadn't spilled a damn thing. Not that Bronn knew shit about shit, but still. He'd sell his intel to the highest and most violent bidder. So I was forced to pick him up by his shirt collar and spit in his face a little. "If I found out you're lying, so help me…"

Left him gasping on the floor of his shed. Kicked him once on the ribs for good measure.

Next I scoured Tractor Supply and the old Hamish shop for the essentials: fresh timber, fasteners, propane, and a new lot of jars for canning. Dozens of packets of seeds, sacks of potatoes, flour, onions.

It was in the dirt parking lot outside the shop that I saw the best buy of all: a truck bed laden with puppies. A cardboard sign tacked to the back of it read free to a good home. Some dude with a mullet and cheekful of dip told me, “Mutts. Old girl rutted with some coonhound. Don’t have a use for ‘em.”

There were ten total, fuzzy pups with floppy ears and brown and black splotches. Old girl musta been a shepherd given the amount of fluff, but any type of dog would do. That’d bring life back to the farm. And the girl—all little girlies loved puppies.

I scooped an armful of five of them. Nodded to the man.

We rode up in the front seat together. I couldn’t smoke because I had to keep one hand ready, to pet a pup, or protect them from flying to the floor. Five little tongues lapped at my knuckles. Their little teeth were razors but I let them bite. “Naughty pups,” I scolded. “Training starts as soon as we get home.”

I had so much work cut out for me. Gods knew why I did this to myself. The heat of the law and the heat of my bird. The new heat of five puppies, padding at my heels, as I made my way into your room.

"I got you a present," I said. "Here."

You scooted up in bed as much as you could with a chained wrist and I plopped a puppy in your lap. "Oh—oh my gosh, are they mine? Can we keep them?"

"Sure can. We'll train them up. They'll be good hunters. Good guard dogs."

"They're so cute!"

You picked up a pup, and I helped the other four into your bed. You giggled, yeah, for real, as the puppies jumped and nibbled, vying for your pets. It was hard with one hand so I went ahead and unlocked you. That was cute. I wished I had a camera. Shoulda thought of that. Could have had some pictures printed, pictures of our new family. But I wasn't ever going back down the mountain. Wouldn't get a chance to develop them.

"Do they have names?"

"No. You name them."

The girl had me sex the puppies, then she'd give them a name. Lady was the first girl, mostly white with a brown spot over eye. Dot was speckled down her back with black spots. Cocoa was all brown. The two boys, Symeon and Aemon, were named after the famous fairytale knights. That felt right. They'd be running security within a year. They’d be wrangling my girl, keeping her close.

"Thank you, Daddy," you chirped. You wrapped an arm around my thigh. Took me by surprise. I wasn't even hard, just thinking. Thinking about life a year from now. "Can I please use the restroom?"

You were still leashed, my naughty pet. One of six. I led you to the bathroom and watched you piss and shit, smoking a morning cigarette. You didn't make a fuss when I wiped you. No, you came quietly downstairs, and sat patiently while I made peach hotcakes. You smiled at them. I wondered if you were a new girl, or maybe if I was a new dog. A daddy who knew exactly what his bird wanted. Sweet things, puppies and fruit and a gentle touch. We were building something special. A forever kind of thing.

I had a morning beer in my recliner while you went to work sewing. I felt secure with your chain looped at my wrist. I turned on Milkwater Milkers and jerked off a few times with that hand, savoring the rattle that came with each stroke. You didn't pout about it too bad, just a little frown and, "Porn is so gross."

"Yeah, what of it?"

"Watching it is a sin."

"You think I care about that shit?"

"I know you don't care. You're a kidnapper. But I don't think little girls should watch it."

You did though, I wanted to say. You walked in on me that night and asked too many questions. I explained what Gregor did and you were curious. No, it was too soon. I switched the TV off and finished to the hum of the sewing machine.

"Look," you said, standing up. You held a pink dress with puffy sleeves and lace at hem. "I altered the sleeves and the back. I think it'll fit me now."

"Go on," I said, waving my bottle.

"Well, you have to help, here—" You came to me and bowed your head. "Get this thing off first."

Reluctantly, I slid the chain from your neck. You slipped your t-shirt off and shimmied into the dress. I had the honor of zipping up the back. Such pretty, creamy skin. I gave your spine a kiss before sealing you up—a perfect fit.

"Oh good," you hummed. "It zipped!"

You turned, smiling, with a hand on your belly. "Well, it won't fit for long if I have a baby. But look—"

No shit I was looking. The bodice didn't come too low, but it certainly squished up the girl's tits, gave them substance. I fingered the lace at the hem. You were you again. I got the same feeling as a couple days ago, what when we rode to the top of the mountain. Like you were the ribbon of river below, and I was big enough to dip my finger into you.

"You look so pretty, sweetheart. You're the prettiest girl I ever met."

Her cheeks were red, one of them purple. She twisted her toe into the carpet. I took a swig of warm beer. "Come here, pretty girl."

I brought you into my lap, straddling me. My cock was out of my pants, half mast and growing fast with your eyes on him. "It's getting big," you said.

"Yeah, because of you."

"Because of my dress?"

"Mhm. I mean it, little bird. You have a way about you. I can't control myself. You're so—" I picked up a loose red curl, coiled it around my finger. I used that finger to pull your face closer and inhale the scent of girl, peaches and milk, sweat, spit. I exhaled into your lips.

"Sweet. You're yourself."

You made a kitty whimper. I ran a hand between your tender thighs straight to your cunt. I pushed aside your panties. Traced your petals, your bud. "Ouch," you gasped.

"Shhh," I soothed. "Play with your daddy. Treat him nice."

You dry-stroked my meat until I hacked a loogie into your palm. Then your touch was agony, because you didn't squeeze, you gave me enough pressure to have my cock flail wildly against my gut. My balls felt black with blood. But I ignored the pain and fingered you. Your cunt felt nice. It tried to push me out; you weren't wet; but I probed. I dragged your chest to my mouth and took out one of your tits to make out with. That got me going even worse. I bucked into your tiny hand. "Oh fuck, oh fuck yeah. Say something, little bird. Talk to me."

I bit your nipple and you cried, "That hurts. You have to be a nice daddy."

"I want to be. I will be."

"Prove it then. You have to come. Do it right now, Daddy."

I did somehow. I came on my shirt and my jeans and a little on your wrist. I licked that bit off, then pulled you forward. Wrapped your arms around my neck and put your head on my shoulder. "How's that?" I asked. I buried my nose in your curls. Ran my hand down their length to your cute asscheeks. I squeezed one.

"Fine," you answered.

"Am I a good daddy?"

I don't know why I asked such a stupid question. I blamed the warmth of your hair, the way it smelled slightly smoky, but mostly like sunshine. Who cared if you liked me back—you were mine. But rivers had a way of slipping straight through mountains. You'd made a valley out of me, a deep channel straight through my viscera.

"You're getting better," you said.

I fell asleep with you in my lap. You wouldn't get anywhere with my arms snug around your ribcage. If you stirred, I tightened. Midday I woke up, my mouth gummed up with beer and your lingering sugar.

"Hi," you said. "I'm ready for the bathroom."

I took us both outside to piss. You didn't like squatting so much, but the puppies needed a break too, and it was time for chores. I fixed your chain to hitch in the garage while I tinkered with the engine of the tractor. Think the flywheel was loose or something. It would be a pain in the ass to sow corn or wheat without it working. Maybe Lydden's sons could help me. They wouldn't say nothing about the girl, I didn't think. I'd hide her upstairs anyway.

She passed the time playing twig fetch with the puppies on the dusty cement floor. They really liked her. She was gentle and spoke to them softly. "Aren't you cute? Oh, yes you are. Who's a good puppy? It's you! Yes, you!" They made cute yips and my body felt heavy, like I was a hot bag of soup. Like something liquidy was gonna gush right out my mouth, and not vomit. I kept my focus on the wrench in my greased-up hand. Mopped the sweat from my brow.

Maybe I had a fever. Couldn't look at the girl long without my heart seizing up. It'd be shit if I had a heart attack out here—who would take care of you? Who would bring you inside and set you up with your coloring book in the kitchen? I made chicken and dumplings with canned peas and carrots. No one else could do that for you. Not like Mom used to make. You ate an entire bowlful without complaint.

"Good girl," I said. "Do you want dessert?"

"I think I want to watch TV," you answered. "Can I eat my dessert in the den?"

Well-mannered birds can eat their dessert wherever they like. I led you to the den and let you rush to the TV console, pull open the drawer full of tapes. "Pick anything," I said, falling into my chair. I lit a smoke and admired the shortness of your dress, how when you stooped over, I got the prettiest glimpse of your crotch. I felt almost lucky.

You shoved a tape into the VCR and straightened up. The TV glowed around your wildfire curls. I was distracted at first, tracing your silhouette through my haze of smoke. The bottoms of your bare feet were black from dirt in the yard. But I heard your voice. "Brother! Brother!"

No.

There you were, nine years old, naked except for panties. Your curls were dark then, to your shoulders. Your eyes were silver.

"Turn it off," I commanded. "Turn it off now."

I should have looked. Should have made sure you picked anything but Nell’s Ninth Birthday. I hadn't thought we'd get this far, you, an independent creature, making your own decisions.

"Now." I jerked your chain.

"Wait—what—"

It was too late.

"Puppy—puppy are you filming?"

"Yes, brother."

Little me trained the lens on you. I remembered thinking you were so pretty. Like the statue of the maiden in the sept. Not something to touch, just to admire.

Gregor thought different.

He pushed you into your bed. It was night—the kerosene lamp on your bedside table burned orangey yellow. We were being quiet so Dad didn't wake up and beat us. You and me. You lay on your unicorn sheets and Gregor yanked down your panties. He put a hand on your flower. He was touching his cock. He was sixteen. He was mounting you. You started crying. "Brother, brother, brother." You were looking at me. I held your hand but Gregor barked, "Get this. Watch this. Watch me fuck her."

"No!"

I snared your chain so you gave a choking gasp and fell back by your neck, clutching it feebly. I was up, fuming, the world streaks of white and a haze of sobs. My eyes burned, then, now. "No," I said. I launched the heel of my boot through the glass of the TV. It burst with a bright flash and fizzled to sparks. "No," I repeated. I thrust my hand into the VCR and retrieved the tape. I whacked you across the face with it. "I said no." I whacked you again. You were sobbing. Or I was. Blood sprayed on the third strike and I fell to my knees in shards of glass. The puppies went crazy yipping. "Little bird. Little bird." Salty snot slunk into my mouth. You cowered but I grabbed you around your shoulders. "Please," I begged. "Please."

I mashed your curls into hot blood that gushed from your brow and nose across your cheeks.

"Why did you watch that?" I shook your face. "Why?"

"You're awful," you wailed. "You hurt her."

"It wasn't me," I said. "It was Gregor."

"But you are him. You're just as awful. You're a raper and a kidnapper. You hit me even though you promised."

My hands found your throat and I wanted to strangle. I'd never have to bear the shine of your wide eyes, reflecting my ugliness right back at me. They reflected him, the monster that shared my skin. The monster who carved my guts and put himself inside. I squeezed my eyes shut to banish the salt that stung them. It stung my scars instead.

"You can kill me," you said. "I wouldn't mind."

"I didn't mean to do it. I didn't mean to hurt her."

"She was so little. Littler than me."

"Gregor made me. He made me. He made me—"

Into this. I dropped back against the shattered gape of the TV with you between my legs. I couldn't breathe. It was the soup. It came out of me. I hacked and warm liquid spilled out of my eyes, my nose, my mouth. "I did it too. I did it. That's next. I put my cock in you. Gregor said—"

I screamed, maybe yelled. It was my gut ripping open. I mimicked it with sound. I fucked you. Why, brother? Why? And I hated it and I came because your cunt felt nice. And I learned that any cunt was fuckable—no meant nothing. Tears meant nothing. Not yours and not my own. Each thrust and more water fell to pretty pale skin. You shone like you had just bathed. I pretended. I pretended we were in the tub. Gregor says so. It's okay. It's okay.

We hid in our special closet after. I pet your flower because you said it hurt. I said I was really sorry. You said—

"I love you. I love you, little bird. Do you hear me? I love you. That's why. I love you more than anything."

I lifted your head. Your blood gutted me. It soaked my shirt through. Who was Gregor. Who was bigger now. "It's okay. We'll take a bath. That'll do."

I found shaky footing. I felt hot, feverish, sweaty and achy. I needed to puke for real. We made it upstairs to the bathroom. I rammed my fingers down my throat inches from grimy, hair-webbed porcelain. Nothing came up but a wretch and strings of drool.

"Sandor, please." You tugged my arm. "Please. Help me."

Right—the blood. That was what made me sick. I sat you on the toilet, wet a cloth, and dabbed at your swollen nose. It wasn't broken, but you'd have a black eye come morning. Your eyelid was stamped with a purple right angle, the corner of the tape, straight beneath your brow. Took a decent amount of pressure to stimmy the blood. I put a bandage on it.

I stripped down and turned on the water. I got in the tub first and you came in after. You had no choice but to curl between my legs. You rested on my chest. I liked it. We musta been in the water for damn near an hour, 'til the water went room temperature, then cold. Neither of us said a word.

"Bed time," I said. I held your hand and guided you out of the tub. Your legs shook like a newborn fawn. I hated that I loved it—you, sodden, beads of water dripping from your tits and maidenhair. Gooseprickles dotted your cream skin. I wouldn't cover it, not tonight.

I got out and picked you up from beneath your butt. "Here," I said. "Baby birds don't need to walk." And baby birds don't even get their own bed. Baby birds might roll over and suffocate on their pillows. I couldn't put you back in that room, back then.

We went to my room instead. Bedded beneath my quilt, wet skin to wet skin. You shivered and I cradled your bones flush to mine. I wanted you to chirp. I wanted you to insult me, to tell me who I really was. A raper, a murderer, a kidnapper. A freakazoid stalker. A sad, sick man. I fucked my little sister when I was twelve. I only hated that she hated it, because I loved her instead. She was my first love. The only girl who ever loved me right.

I wouldn't give you the same ending. I promised.

But hours passed and I woke up with my hard cock pressed between your asscheeks. “Little bird,” I said. I thrust a bit, enjoying the feel of your softness cradling my red meat. I pictured the time I fucked your pretty asshole and almost came right then. Decided to jam my cock between your petals. “Little bird, I’m going to fuck you.”

“Mm-mm,” you mumbled. You shook your head of tangled fire into the pillows. Damn, you were up. Shoulda given you a pill.

“I want to fuck you,” I said. I grabbed a tit, scarcely more than a dollop of flesh on bone.

“Can I say no?”

“I want you to say yes.”

“I know.”

I humped some more and latched my lips to your ear, treated it like your mouth.

“I’m still freaked out by that video,” you said. “That was really sad.”

“Don’t talk about it.”

“Why does it matter? You don’t care about no.”

I snaked my arm up your middle to cup your throat and chin. Twisted you to look up at me. “You shouldn’t have seen that. And you don’t understand. I loved her. She loved me back.”

“She was so little.”

I bared my teeth and hissed, “So was I.”

You were getting me worked up. I nudged your hips flat with my knee and mounted you, your wrists pinned above your head. You refused to look away.

“What happened to her?”

“She died.”

“But how?”

“Enough talking.” I clasped my palm over your mouth and shoved a hand between your legs. You were dry as bone and squirming something awful. You chirped and chirped into my hand. “Quiet, girl.” I tried jacking myself off but I couldn’t stop thinking about the end of the story. I didn’t want to fuck you dead even though you looked so pretty. You were an angel splayed on the brick patio. I picked you up and put my fingers in the brains that spilled out. I thought that part of you looked pretty too. I knew you were pretty inside out. I had thought about what you would look like there. I told you once, “You have pretty guts.” But it scared you because you wanted prettier words than that, words like flower and petals and dew. Words for a fairy girl who wasn’t even from this realm, but a sweeter realm, and realm of knights and princesses and fools.

I buried you before Gregor found your body. I think he would have fucked it.

I was fucking your maidenhair because I couldn’t see right. My vision was fire that pulsed in my skull. “I’m sorry sweet girl,” I kept saying. I was down in the valley. Your tears tickled my knuckles. “I’m so sorry.” And I came.

On your tummy.

I dropped onto my back beside you. You cried quietly.

“I’m so scared of you,” you said.

“I won’t hurt you,” I promised, lying.

Morning came in pink and purple gashes through the shutters. Warmth slipped through my fingers and I stirred.

"Little bird?"

You were gone. I felt up the spot in the sheets where you had been—still warm. I'd catch you yet, oh Gods, yes I would. I listened first, shifting to my feet, stalking towards the hall. Muffled noises came from the bathroom. The puppies worried at the frame, scratching with tiny nails. You were peeing. Yeah, that was it. I slammed open the door.

"Found you," I rasped.

But it was too late.

You held my burner against your ear.

"911 what's your emergency?"

I smacked the phone out of your hand and crushed it with my boot. “What were you thinking?” I roared, snatching you up by your throat. I snatched you all the fucking way, so that your toes lifted from the ground and your face turned that pretty shade violet I always loved. I held it at eye level. “You stupid, stupid girl—after everything I’ve done?” I spat white and green foam on your mouth.

You clawed at my hand and sputtered. Your eyes bulged like wet blue marbles.

“Oh fuck you, you little cunt. You ruined our fucking family. We’re going. We’re going far away. Yeah, I think I’ll take you to Braavos.”

I threw you back down to the floor. Your chain was still there from last night. It was my fault. I got so fucking loose with you. I picked the wrong bird. I needed a pliant bird. Not a bird who wormed her way into my brain and turned me soft with her shit. I wrapped the chain around your neck and tugged you to my room—I’d pack my bag and we’d go. I’d put the girl on the Courser and take the back road out. Pigs didn’t know about that one. Yeah, we’d be fine.

I stuffed my bag half-full with clothes and dragged it and you downstairs. The living room was a battle zone, the carpet sprayed with glass and blood. I got my tape and a few others I might miss. You were crying and shouting but I didn’t hear you. We needed some food so we could lay low. We needed my stash out back.

The alarm blared. Pigs. Coming up the drive.

There was time. I curled the chain tight around my fist and brought you outside, around back of the house, to the cellar. The bag was full up with jerky and the emergency MREs. I smashed a shoulder jug to the dirt and fished out a few thousand dragons—that would last us a year.

We had one final stop. It was cheeky. It was my stupid mistake, fetching a can of gas from the garage and dousing the front porch. I dipped my lighter into the puddle, and bam.

Full blaze. It lapped up the steps and swallowed the first floor, gasping into the front windows. It claimed the second floor and licked a fiery halo around the red rooftop. The heat baked my burns and I smiled wide. My first smile since I was a babe. Turned out all I needed to do was lean into the blaze, accept it as my own. This was for the shitty god of fire: judge me now, cunt.

Now my heart was pounding. It hollowed out my ribcage like some sorta battering ram. I mighta pissed myself but there were more important things. I sat you on the Courser and threw myself behind you. What undid me was the damn pups: the only noise I remember you making was crying, "We can't leave them." I scooped as many as I could and thrust them in your lap.

"There."

I revved and kicked dust down the old road, what had been a mule trail and now served as our only escape. I was thinking of you and our baby only. I’d do anything to keep you safe.

A minute down the road and the house a black column of smoke billowing from the trees. I could feel the heat of it still. The bittersweet dip in a wall of flame. You were crying and probably insulting me but I kissed your head.

“Almost there,” I said. “Almost there.”

But a cruiser tore out of the woods, up a mile. It kicked up clouds of dust at it blazed towards us, alarm shrieking and blinking red blue, red blue. “Fucking shit.” How did they know?

The answer came—a copter whirred in from overhead, low enough to fuck with my hair, toss it into my scars and stick it there.

“You are under arrest. Stop the vehicle and surrender the girl.”

It was the shit voice of cop God from above. I ripped a gravelly one-eighty but five more cop cars came barrelling down the hill. We played chicken. They didn’t want to hurt the girl. Sure enough, with mere feet between us, they ground sidelong to a stop.

Lionslot County Sheriff.

It was him. I swore I saw him glowing orange in the driver seat. I skittered out and rolled in the low grasses with my arms coiled around you. You screamed. The puppies scattered. The skin on my forearms sloughed clean off but I found my way to my feet. I held you against me by your waist as you wriggled.

“Help me,” you begged, ragged. “Someone help me please.”

Found my Brightroar and nestled it in your curls. “Touch me and the girl goes.”

The cops were out with their bullet proof vests and their ARs aimed high. They gave me the three-sixty treatment. Three cars had come up the back and five from the front. Dozens of cops. Some perched behind their hoods and a brave few out front. I couldn’t nab them all, not with this one clip. It was a goddamn pork factory. I would have bacon for days, years.

“Sandor, give us the girl. No one needs to get hurt.”

Beric.

He didn’t have a vest, or a shield, or an AR. He kept his heat at his hip as he approached, in his muddy brown uniform. One shot. One shot was all it would take. But I couldn’t move the muzzle from the girl’s head. I’d lose my edge. And I couldn’t get a clear look—Beric glowed. His badge, his belt buckle, the ring on his left hand. They glinted gold and captured the red of the morning sun. He was like her, like you. A new kinda hearth that I welcomed like some kind of pervert. Fire was a curse. You get one taste and you can’t help but go back for more, to feel the burn. To feel your skin crisp back and your lungs eat ash. No shit I wasn’t breathing right. No shit my scars burst and wept. Not even the house fire could set my brain right.

“I’ll kill her!” I shouted. “I’ll kill the lot of you!”

“Sandor, please.” He was ten feet away. His palms were up to the sky. “Let her go. She’s an innocent creature. Let her live a righteous life.”

You, innocent? Your very existence was a plea for sin. Your eyes slicked themselves up like your cunt never did, made even more pitiful since one of them was black from last night. I hated the pure snow white of your skin. Maybe that was why I hit you and struck you and smashed your pretty nose to a swollen lump. I didn't want something so perfect when I was so fucked up. It wasn't fair that you lived so prettily while I lived like this, ugly.

Your biggest mistake was dropping your juicy lower lip. I shoved my gun there. You cried harder. Puppies clawed at my pant leg and your bare calves. But I wasn't Puppy anymore. I was a Hound, a Mountain, bigger than the Gods.

“I’ll do it, little bird. Isn’t this what you wanted?”

You shook your fucked up little head.

“I’ve done it before, did I tell you that? Remember when you asked what happened to Nell? It was me, little bird. Not Gregor. I pushed her out the window. Said she didn’t love me like that. She said no. She said she wanted to die. I was a good brother, wasn’t I? I gave her what she wanted.”

Your eyes closed. Tears glittered your chin. Your tiny hand, cold somehow, touched the bare pink bloodiness of my arm. My guts. My insides out. You had turned me like Gregor. When he buried me in the hearth he marked me as his own. I came out like him, lived and breathed like him, because there was nothing but him. He was the Mountain and I was the puppy. God built him up over millennia and who the fuck was I, but a turd at his feet. A little backwards boy, brains as ugly as his burns.

You flipped me the rest of the way, so the viscera faced the world, dozens of black barrels ready to mist me, the way I had done to so many poor fucks overseas. I had nowhere to hide. No poppy milk, no booze, no porn. I had the prettiest girl in the whole world, mouthing, “Please. Do it.”

“Because I love you, little bird. Believe that.”

I crammed my Brightroar in my mouth and jerked my thumb to the tune of a scream.

Bliss.

Black.

The end.