The morning was unnaturally warm; beads of sweat dotted the Lord Commander's broad forehead like dew on a melon. A raven landed on the grey stone sill, opened its beak, and gave a harsh, raucous rattle of distress. The girl as well? No doubt. The honor of the Hand's presence was requested as soon as it was convenient.
Theon Greyjoy stood beside a sentinel tree, his bow in hand. The grass beneath him was brown and dry. he staggered back, tripped over a rock, and caught hold of the weeping woman to keep his balance. Shagga glowered, a fearsome sight to see.
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