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Arya

           Shedarednotinterrupt,unlessshewantedabloodylip.

           "AftertheHand’stourney,itwere,beforethewarcome,"Chiswyckwassaying."Wewereonourwaysbackwest,sevenofuswithSerGregor.Raffwaswithme,andyoungJossStilwood,he’dsquiredforSerinthelists.Well,wecomeonthispisswaterriver,runninghighonaccountthere’dbeenrains.Nowaytoford,butthere’sanalehousenear,sotherewerepair.Serrouststhebrewerandtellshimtokeepourhornsfulltillthewatersfall,andyoushouldseetheman’spigeyesshineatthesighto’silver.Sohe’sfetchingusale,himandhisdaughter,andpoorthinstuffitis,nomore’nbrownpiss,whichdon’tmakemeanyhappier,norSerneither.Andallthetimethisbrewer’ssayinghowgladheistohaveus,custombeingslowonaccounto’themrains.Thefoolwon’tshuthisyap,nothim,thoughSerissayingnotaword,justbroodingontheKnighto’Pansiesandthatbugger’strickheplayed.Youcanseehowtighthismouthsits,someandtheotherladsweknowbetter’ntosayasqueaktohim,butthisbrewerhe’sgottotalk,heevenaskshowm’lordfaredinthejousting.Serjustgavehimthislook."Chiswyckcackled,quaffedhisale,andwipedthefoamawaywiththebackofhishand."Meanwhile,thisdaughterofhishasbeenfetchingandpouring,afatlittlething,eighteenorso"

           "Thirteen,morelike,"RafftheSweetlingdrawled.

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