He must be, what, five by now? Prince Tornmen is seven, she told him. The commander, an anxious young knight with a pockmarked face, offered bread and cheese and the chance to warm themselves before his fire, but Mya declined. I have no intention of remaining here. She wondered how big Rickon had grown, and whether Bran was sad.
Ghost looked at him in silence. So too you must wash away your former loyalties, put aside your grudges, forget old wrongs and old loves alike. There were eight in the party by then, not counting the wolf. Caress the fabric.
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