A long time ago, she remembered her father saying that when the cold wind blows the lone wolf dies but the pack survives. He had it all backwards. Arya, the lone wolf, still lived, but the wolves of the pack had been taken and slain and skinned
His sister sat in a puddle of wine, cradling her son’s body. Her gown was torn and stained, her face white as chalk.
“The boy is gone, Cersei.”
between the dawn and the dusk
you were made of miracles
and you can run all you want
but in the light of the moon
the wolves will always call you back