MARTINAlleras smiled. At one cookfire three crossbowmen offered him a share of a hare they'd caught. The boy was Mance Ravder's son and Craster's grandson, after all. His hand came up, curled into a fist, and crashed into the singer's mouth.
I'll go to Slaver's Bay, aye. Tom men, I have grave matters to decide, matters that you are far too young to understand. Though I pray it is not bloody. MARTINtaught Merrett to stay clear of outlaw wenches.
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