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Bran

           

           "He’dneverdarehurtme.He’sscaredofSummer,nomatterwhathesays."

           "Thenmightbehe’snotsostupidasheseems."Oshawasalwayswaryaroundthedirewolves.Thedayshewastaken,SummerandGreyWindbetweenthemhadtornthreewildlingstobloodypieces."Ormightbeheis.Andthattastesoftroubletoo."Shetiedupherhair."Youhavemoreofthemwolfdreams?"

           "No."Hedidnotliketotalkaboutthedreams.

           "Aprinceshouldliebetterthanthat."Oshalaughed."Well,yourdreamsareyourbusiness.Mine’sinthekitchens,andI’dbestbegettingbackbeforeGagestartstoshoutingandwavingthatbigwoodenspoonofhis.Byyourleave,myprince."

           Sheshouldneverhavetalkedaboutthewolfdreams,BranthoughtasHodorcarriedhimupthestepstohisbedchamber.Hefoughtagainstsleepaslongashecould,butintheendittookhimasitalwaysdid.Onthisnighthedreamedoftheweirwood.Itwaslookingathimwithitsdeepredeyes,callingtohimwithitstwistedwoodenmouth,andfromitspalebranchesthethree-eyedcrowcameflapping,peckingathisfaceandcryinghisnameinavoiceassharpasswords.

           Theblastofhornswokehim.Branpushedhimselfontohisside,gratefulforthereprieve.Heheardhorsesandboisterousshouting.Moreguestshavecome,andhalf-drunkbythenoiseofthem.Graspinghisbarshepulledhimselffromthebedandovertothewindowseat.

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