The fire had burned down to embers. No doubt he knows I'd hang him. The wildling woman Val turned to face them. Sandor's voice was thick with pain.
Not a dozen mammoths, Jon saw, a hundred. All my victories turn to dross in my hands, she thought. Among the loads he brought ashore were several casks of wine. But the gate was a crooked tunnel through the ice, smaller than any castlegate in the Seven Kingdoms, so narrow that rangers must lead their garronsthrough single file.
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