They stopped to water the horses again, drank deep from their skins and wet their veils, then mounted for the last push. Mya won't wait past midday. She thought of Joffrey. More fool him.
The only travelers they'd glimpsed had melted away into the woods before they reached them, save for a big. Outside a cold wind was rising. What will happen to my poor m-m-mother? / imagine she will die. These are dark days in Westeros.
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