[ The person she encounters is just a slip of a girl, dark hair and delicate features. She looks highborn, aristocratic, even if Ygritte knows by now that none of those she's encountered in this frozen wasteland have ever come from or heard of a place known as Westeros, or heard of the Wall that separates it from the Lands of Always Winter.

And she looks very wary of Ygritte, for good reason, even as she offers to share the space, and even though she holds the only weapon between the two of them. The spearwife raises her hands in supplication. ]

...I'm not goin' t' hurt you. Don't need your stew, either. [ She thinks for a moment, mulling over the best choice of words given the situation. ] I've got 'nough rations to last me awhile.

[ She steps in, sets her pack down roughly as she nods to the girl. ] What's your name?