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Arya

           Leaveshadbeguntofallfromthetreesinthegodswood,andshecouldhearthemmovingthroughthedesertedcourtyardsandbetweentheemptybuildings,makingafaintskitterysoundasthewinddrovethemacrossthestones.NowthatHarrenhalwasnearemptyonceagain,sounddidqueerthingshere.Sometimesthestonesseemedtodrinkupnoise,shroudingtheyardsinablanketofsilence.Othertimes,theechoeshadalifeoftheirown,soeveryfootfallbecamethetreadofaghostlyarmy,andeverydistantvoiceaghostlyfeast.ThefunnysoundswereoneofthethingsthatbotheredHotPie,butnotArya.

           Quietasashadow,sheflittedacrossthemiddlebailey,aroundtheTowerofDread,andthroughtheemptymews,wherepeoplesaidthespiritsofdeadfalconsstirredtheairwithghostlywings.Shecouldgowhereshewould.Thegarrisonnumberednomorethanahundredmen,sosmallatroopthattheywerelostinHarrenhal.TheHallofaHundredHearthswasclosedoff,alongwithmanyofthelesserbuildings,eventheWailingTower.SerAmoryLorchresidedinthecastellan’schambersinKingspyre,themselvesasspaciousasalord’s,andAryaandtheotherservantshadmovedtothecellarsbeneathhimsotheywouldbecloseathand.WhileLordTywinhadbeeninresidence,therewasalwaysaman-at-armswantingtoknowyourbusiness.Butnowtherewereonlyahundredmenlefttoguardathousanddoors,andnooneseemedtoknowwhoshouldbewhere,orcaremuch.

           Asshepassedthearmory,Aryaheardtheringofahammer.

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