“Ghost.” Melisandre made the word a song.
The direwolf padded toward her. Wary, he stalked about her in a circle, sniffing. When she held
out her hand he smelled that too, then shoved his nose against her fingers.
Jon let out a white breath. “He is not always so …”
“… warm? Warmth calls to warmth, Jon Snow.” Her eyes were two red stars, shining in the dark.
At her throat, her ruby gleamed, a third eye glowing brighter than the others. / ADWD
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