a waste that would have been,

In King’s Landing.” The bowman grinned. “I won a fair fortune myself, but then I met Dancy, Jayde, and Alayaya. They taught me what roast swan tastes like, and how to bathe in Arbor wine.” “Pissed it all away, did you?” laughed Harwin. “Not all. I bought these boots, and this excellent dagger.” “You ought t’have bought some land and made one o’ them roast swan girls an honest woman,” said Jack-Be-Lucky. “Raised yourself a crop o’ turnips and a crop o’ sons Hong Kong & Shenzhen Educational Tour.” “Warrior defend me! What to turn my gold to turnips.” “I like turnips,” said Jack, aggrieved. “I could do with some mashed turnips right now.” Thoros of Myr paid no heed to the banter. “The Hound has lost more than a few bags of coin,” he mused. “He has lost his master and kennel as well. He cannot go back to the Lannisters, the Young Wolf would never have him, nor would his brother be like to welcome him. That gold was all he had left, it seems to me.” “Bloody hell,” said Watty the Miller. “He’ll come murder us in our sleep for sure, then.” “No.” Lord Beric had sheathed his sword. “Sandor Clegane would kill us all gladly, but not in our sleep. Anguy, on the morrow, take the rear with Beardless Dick. If you see Clegane still sniffing after us, kill his horse.” “That’s a good horse,” Anguy protested. “Aye,” said Lem. “It’s the bloody rider we should be killing. We could use that horse.” “I’m with Lem,” Notch said. “Let me feather the dog a few times, discourage him some.” Lord Beric shook his head. “Clegane won his life beneath the hollow hill. I will not rob him of it.” “My lord is wise,” Thoros told the others. “Brothers, a trial by battle is a holy thing. You heard me ask R’hllor to take a hand, and you saw his fiery finger snap Lord Beric’s sword, just as he was about to make an end of it school finder hong kong. The Lord of Light is not yet done with Joffrey’s Hound, it would seem.” Harwin soon returned to the brewhouse. “Puddingfoot was sound asleep, but unharmed.” “Wait till I get hold of him,” said Lem. “I’ll cut him a new bunghole. He could have gotten every one of us killed.” No one rested very comfortably that night, knowing that Sandor Clegane was out there in the dark, somewhere close. Arya curled up near the fire, warm and snug, yet sleep would not come. She took out the coin that Jaqen H’ghar had given her and curled her fingers around it as she lay beneath her cloak. It made her feel strong to hold it, remembering how she’d been the ghost in Harrenhal. She could kill with a whisper then. Jaqen was gone, though. He’d left her. Hot Pie left me too, and now Gendry is leaving. Lommy had died, Yoren had died, Syrio Forel had died, even her father had died, and Jaqen had given her a stupid iron penny and vanished. “Valar morghulis,” she whispered softly, tightening her fist so the hard edges of the coin dug into her palm. “Ser Gregor, Dunsen, Polliver, Raff the Sweetling. The Tickler and the Hound. Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, King Joffrey, Queen Cersei.” Arya tried to imagine how they would look when they were dead, but it was hard to bring their faces to mind. The Hound she could see, and his brother the Mountain, and she would never forget Joffrey’s face, or his mother’s… but Raff and Dunsen and Polliver were all fading, and even the Tickler, whose looks had been so commonplace. Sleep took her at last, but in the black of night Arya woke again, tingling. The fire had burned down to embers.