to take them? I’d thought, might be these Cerwyns …” Maester Luwin shook his head, though it was plain to see what the effort cost him. “Cerwyn boy’s dead. Ser Rodrik, Leobald Tallhart, Lady Hornwood … all slain. Deepwood fallen, Moat Cailin, soon Torrhen’s Square. Ironmen on the Stony Shore. And east, the Bastard of Bolton.” “Then where?” asked Osha. “White Harbor … the Umbers … I do not know … war everywhere … each man against his neighbor, and winter coming … such folly, such black mad folly …” Maester Luwin reached up and grasped Bran’s forearm, his fingers closing with a desperate
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