[He hesitates, for half a moment, still a little flustered from what he’d accidentally implied. If others might walk into his dreams, it might be better to warn them that it’s nothing but an endless onslaught of dead men and White Walkers, or falling from the loft of a hall or from the top of the Wall and having the air knocked out of you while those monsters converge, or a cold dark night and knives flashing in the dark, or — in the best of them, a long-deserted castle with a crypt in which something does not love him.
But for things to be much better between them, she has to see it. The numbers of the dead, the implacability of their masters, how they just keep coming and coming and coming, how nothing in their path can survive. In his dreams, he never has to decide whether the worst thing about Hardhome was the way the screams fell silent as all the people died, or the way they rose as one after that, but when he’s awake, sometimes it still haunts him.
It’s easier to take a chocolate; it would be impolite to refuse. He can tell she likes them in spite of herself, so he chooses one of the littler ones. At another time, he would have told her to go first, because they’re hers, but it’s a matter of trust that he eat one in front of her before she does.]
You’re welcome. One of the first people I spoke to here gave me a little piece of this. Just a square, not a dragon.
[In truth, it was only the extra credits he’d gotten from visiting pop ups that had enabled him to afford them. He takes a dainty bite of the chocolate: it’s sweet, with some sort of berry paste in the middle.]
no subject
But for things to be much better between them, she has to see it. The numbers of the dead, the implacability of their masters, how they just keep coming and coming and coming, how nothing in their path can survive. In his dreams, he never has to decide whether the worst thing about Hardhome was the way the screams fell silent as all the people died, or the way they rose as one after that, but when he’s awake, sometimes it still haunts him.
It’s easier to take a chocolate; it would be impolite to refuse. He can tell she likes them in spite of herself, so he chooses one of the littler ones. At another time, he would have told her to go first, because they’re hers, but it’s a matter of trust that he eat one in front of her before she does.]
You’re welcome. One of the first people I spoke to here gave me a little piece of this. Just a square, not a dragon.
[In truth, it was only the extra credits he’d gotten from visiting pop ups that had enabled him to afford them. He takes a dainty bite of the chocolate: it’s sweet, with some sort of berry paste in the middle.]