The fisherfolk near Eastwatch have glimpsed white walkers on the shore. Gladly, Your Grace, Ned said with vast relief. Mormont frowned through his thick grey beard. I want my daughters back, and the queen holds them still.
Are you men or dogs that you would threaten a child? Out of the way, old man, one of the red cloaks said. And when night falls, there are said to be ghosts, cold vengeful spirits of the north who hunger for southron blood. His skin stretched tight over bones like sticks. I want no bloodshed, Ned told the queen.
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