For his sigil he had taken a bloody spear, gold on a night-black field. Gods save us, Lord Lefford swore. How is your war going? His uncle answered. Women, cravens .
A lone sentry stood high on the battlements of the inner wall, his cloak pulled tight around him against the cold. We ride as well. it can't be a day or . Blood dripped down his arm where Shaggydog had shredded the wool of his sleeve and the flesh beneath.