Arya

           ThescentofhotbreaddriftingfromtheshopsalongtheStreetofFlourwassweeterthananyperfumeAryahadeversmelled.Shetookadeepbreathandsteppedclosertothepigeon.Itwasaplumpone,speckledbrown,busilypeckingatacrustthathadfallenbetweentwocobblestones,butwhenArya’sshadowtouchedit,ittooktotheair.

           Herstickswordwhistledoutandcaughtittwofeetofftheground,anditwentdowninaflurryofbrownfeathers.Shewasonitintheblinkofaneye,grabbingawingasthepigeonflappedandfluttered.Itpeckedatherhand.Shegrabbeditsneckandtwisteduntilshefeltthebonesnap.

           Comparedwithcatchingcats,pigeonswereeasy.

           Apassingseptonwaslookingatheraskance."Here’sthebestplacetofindpigeon,"Aryatoldhimasshebrushedherselfoffandpickedupherfallensticksword."Theycomeforthecrumbs."Hehurriedaway.

           Shetiedthepigeontoherbeltandstarteddownthestreet.Amanwaspushingaloadoftartsbyonatwo-wheeledcart;thesmellssangofblueberriesandlemonsandapricots.Herstomachmadeahollowrumblynoise."CouldIhaveone?"sheheardherselfsay."Alemon,or...oranykind."

           Thepushcartmanlookedherupanddown.Plainlyhedidnotlikewhathesaw."Threecoppers."

           Aryatappedherwoodenswordagainstthesideofherboot."I’lltradeyouafatpigeon,"shesaid.

           "TheOtherstakeyourpigeon,"thepushcartmansaid.

           Thetartswerestillwarmfromtheoven.Thesmellsweremakinghermouthwater,butshedidnothavethreecoppers...orone.

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