Speak truly, ser. His throatfelt frozen, his lungs on fire. Tell me, Samwell. Arstan Whitebeard stood outside the entrance of her tent, while Strong Belwassat crosslegged on the grass nearby, eating a bowl of figs.
The oilcloth they'd wrappedaround their torches kept them dry, so they had light. So long as the river runshigh, Ser Gregor will not cross. Who will speak for me? Hedipped his quill in the inkpot. Sansa jerked away from him, frightened.
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