“They would shame us into folly.” Qhorin gave Jon a long look. “Remember your orders.” “Belike we need to flush the crows,” Rattleshirt bellowed over the clamor. “Feather them!” “No!” The word burst from Jon’s lips before the bowmen could loose. He took two quick steps forward. “We yield!” “They warned me bastard blood was craven,” he heard Qhorin Halfhand say coldly behind him. “I see it is so. Run to your new masters, coward.” Face reddening, Jon descended the slope to where Rattleshirt sat his horse. The wildling stared at him through the eyeholes of his helm, and said, “The free folk have
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