Kill Me, And Be Cursed. You Are

The Air Smelled Of Paper And Dust And Years.

Trust Is Earned. Like Gold.

Nobody Likes Cravens,” He Said Uncomfortably. “i Wish We Hadn’t Helped Him. What If They Think We’re Craven Too?” "you're Too Stupid To Be Craven,” Pyp Told Him. “i Am Not,” Grenn Said. “yes You Are. If A Bear Attacked You In The Woods, You’d Be Too Stupid To Run Away.” “i Would Not,” Grenn Insisted. “i’d Run Away Faster Than You.” He Stopped Suddenly, Scowling When He Saw Pyp’s Grin And Realized What He’d Just Said.

Dragons Old And Young, True And False, Bright And Dark. And You. A Small Man With A Big Shadow, Snarling In The Midst Of All.

They Are Children, Sansa Thought. They Are Silly Little Girls, Even Elinor. They’ve Never Seen A Battle, They’ve Never Seen A Man Die, They Know Nothing. Their Dreams Were Full Of Songs And Stories, The Way Hers Had Been Before Joffrey Cut Her Fathers Head Off. Sansa Pitied Them. Sansa Envied Them.