Swiftcurrent Creek the pointy end

"I miss my maw," he admitted readily, though tucked his ears sheepishly as he realized how silly it made him feel. "Heh... a real mama's boy, right?" Rickon could laugh now, but he remembered his siblings giving him a hard time about it— well, everyone really. He had been most like her, after all, and she had coddled and facilitated his kindness as a boy, which soon became apparent that it only served to single him out among the more ruthless wolves of Castlerock. "I miss 'em all, really. I mean, even if they were a bunch a rockheads, but... she— my maw— she jus' understood me, an' wanted me to be a good guy no matter what no one said. I believe in that, so I think about her a lot, bein' away from her an' all. I jus' hope she's happy, and that she's okay."

October, forever like a flower, lovely and sweet, said she missed her home. Rickon couldn't imagine returning to the Trench, or missing it as she missed her Creek, but he understood the sentiment. Ones birthplace often held a special place in the heart of the young, and considering that her upbringing hadn't been nearly as harsh, she certainly had more reason to yearn for it than he. Still, he couldn't help but feel a little lucky that she had felt some minor discontent with her nuclear family— enough to strike out on her own, at least. Enough to have eventually met him...

"I'll visit gladly, but don't get yer hopes up 'bout me findin' anythin' prettier." He smiled, feeling incredibly light despite the circumstances. They could very well be hunting vile demons, but Rickon couldn't imagine being any place else than with her in that moment. He felt like he knew who he was and what he was supposed to be doing; even if it was just helping October. The bastard had never felt as important as he did now. "Tell me a story, Trips," he ventured quietly, having shortened her Mystery Master Mentor nickname (or Triple M) to something actually shorter than her real name.