Grey Wind nipped at her fingers, playful, and trotted back to his place by the fire. He reached up and undid the clasps that held his cloak in place, and the heavy white garment slithered from his shoulders to fall in a heap on the floor. Bells rang and drums beat a stately cadence as they marched along the godsway. This is my place.
The fighting was over, and the silence of the grave had settled over the Red Keep. I don't know, said Robb. You've done well, Alyn, Ned was saying when Vayon Poole returned. He has been dulling the hurt with milk of the poppy.
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