He had been born in the dead of winter, a terrible cruel one that the maesters said had lasted near three years, but Tyrion's earliest memories were of spring. Scattered lights flickered through the trees ahead of him, on both sides of the road: Mole's Town. Robert nodded and closed his eyes. It must have been knocked down in the fight or dropped as it was being loaded.
Starks, the man muttered, bloody Starks. She dressed him in horsehair leggings and high boots, buckling a belt heavy with gold and silver medallions about his waist. Her brother took her by the arm as Illyrio waddled over to the khal, his fingers squeezing so hard that they hurt. What was it? Wind.
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