You old gods, she prayed as the singer's voice grew louder, you treegods, hide me, and make him go past. She had strapped the sheath across her back; the longsword wasmade for a man grown, and it bumped against the ground when she wore it on herhip. We eye each other, and keep our distance. Freeriders and hedge knights are always attaching themselves to royalprocessions, in hopes of finding service with the king, and my lute gained meeasy acceptance.
He liked Longspear, with hishomely face and friendly ways. “They’re treating you well?” I asked, when I’d finally made it through the crowd to her. Men are men, Whitebeard replied. Pongboon had hoped for—maybe add ten percent.
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