‘No. The witch Shoglig told me the time and place of my death, and it is not here, and it is not now.’ ‘Huh.’ Javre set her own sword down and began, one by one, to explosively crack her knuckles. ‘Did she tell you the time of me kicking you so hard you shit yourself?’ Whirrun’s face took on a contemplative look. ‘She did predict my shitting myself, but that was because of a rancid stew and, anyway, that happened already. Last year, near Uffrith. That is why I have these new trousers.’
