The gods be with you, Snow, he called out. You are quick, for a dancing master, said Ser Meryn. He was aware of the eyes that followed him, of the muttered voices wondering what he would do. Not for the first time, he wondered what he was doing here and why he had come.
Because it is his nature. Just before he closed his eyes for the last time, he whispered something to the king and his lady wife, a blessing for his son. Another day it might be Hullen with his endless horse talk, or Septon Chayle from the library, or Jory, or Ser Rodrik, or even Old Nan with her stories. The bone was smooth beneath her hand, cold and hard to the touch.
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