You mistake me. I arrived here a King's Hand, ridingthrough the gates at the head of my own sworn men, Tyrion reflected, and Ileave like a rat scuttling through the dark, holding hands with a spider. She knew she ought to be excited,but her belly was all knotted up tight. 'The Song of the Seven/ it's called.
Stupid blind little wolf bitch. The freed slaves partedbefore her. I feared we'd never escape, Tyrion quipped. Smoke rose grey from his open jaws, and hislong neck curled and straightened as he snapped at the slaver's face.
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