A single hard word to end the matter. At the end she was knee-deep in foulsmelling water, wishing she could dance upon it as Syrio might have, and wondering if she'd ever see light again. Ned frowned. She was suddenly very tired.
He crossed the room to their table, acutely conscious of the way his stunted legs made him waddle with every step. The late summer snows had been heavy this moonturn. Spears thrust at him from every side, but the shield wall broke beneath his weight. It was fashioned in the likeness of a snarling black hound, fearsome to behold, but Tyrion had always thought it a great improvement over Clegane's hideously burned face.
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