The bronze stallions threw long shadows across the waving grasses as Khal Drogo led the khalasar under their hooves and down the godsway, his bloodriders beside him. All she had to do was stay on the kingsroad and it would take her back to Winterfell. My voice echoes all around, but no one answers, so I walk faster, opening doors, shouting names. Braziers were lit.
Perhaps they stole the horses from the last place they raided. She was of the Faith, like her father and grandfather and his father before him. This summer has lasted nine years, Tyrion, and a tenth will soon be upon us. Not wholly, Ser Kevan said.
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