Ghost followed close at his heels, out into the night. Petyr had been a small boy, and he had grown into a small man, an inch or two shorter than Catelyn, slender and quick, with the sharp features she remembered and the same laughing grey-green eyes. Jon tried to shout, but his voice was gone. The wheelhouse in which they had ridden, a huge double-decked carriage of oiled oak and gilded metal pulled by forty heavy draft horses, was too wide to pass through the castle gate.
Arya bowled her over, scattering fragrant loaves of fresh-baked bread on the floor. There is your choice. It is not for Khal Drogo to wait, she proclaimed. I've seen you looking at Yoren and his boys.
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