Long after their voices had faded away, Arya could still see the light of the torch, a smoking star that bid her follow. She heard the screams of frightened horses, and the voices of the Dothraki raised in shouts of fear and terror, and Ser Jorah calling her name and cursing. Cersei stood abruptly. It was not a question.
After the dimness of the tent, the world outside was blinding bright. Must we have more deaths still? You are a woman, my lady, the Greatjon rumbled in his deep voice. She looked as though she belonged here. The barrows of the First Men.
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