They were lost in those cursed bogs. There was no clear way forward, nor any way back. She felt lucky to have survived so far. There was no good place to rest at night, and they just huddled together near a rock and barely got a wink of sleep. Everything around was cold and damp and they couldn't even start a fire. Arya could barely close her eyes with the near-constant buzzing of insects around them. She could easily imagine how in ages past whole Andal armies were lost and died in the swamps before they even set their sights on Moat Cailin. If they didn't find a way out soon, she and Greatjon would meet a gruesome end here. They should have tried to find a boat and crossed the Bite with it instead.