“I’ve a name,” Holt snapped, turning to his horse. There weren’t enough horses to carry us, so I sighed as I guided Brann up to ride at my back. He shook his head, denying the ride. “She never referred to you by anything other than Huntsman,” Brann said. “What I allow Imelda to call me is none of your business, and you are not gifted the same courtesy,” Holt said, staring down at where Brann seemed determined to go his separate way. To escape the coming war, I had no doubt. The fucking coward.
period
