Other riders dismounted to take their turns. The direwolf turned his head and looked down at him, baring his fangs in a silent snarl. Did he instruct you to hit me if I refused to come? Are you refusing to come, my lady? The look he gave her was without expression. Even now, long days later, the memory filled him with a bitter rage.
The small council consents. or perhaps Bran had died, and they had forgotten him. Perhaps your little birds will whisper the name of the man it belongs to. You've brought me all this way to take me to a brothel.
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