The man carried no torch, nor did he make any effort to soften his footsteps. He simply passed through a patch of dark trees beside the lakeshore and walked unhurriedly straight toward the Dragon Horde, only stopping when he was a dozen paces away.
No torchlight heralded his arrival, and there was no warning at all. He seemed to have stepped straight out of the night, startling Daenerys enough that she instinctively burrowed into Viserys's arms.
The newcomer wore an old felt cloak with frayed edges. A shortsword hung at his waist, and he carried two snow hares tied together with a grass rope. The hares swayed gently as he moved. The rope had already begun to loosen, but he showed no sign of noticing.
Judging by his clothes, he looked like one of the hunters commonly seen in the North, except that he carried no bow or arrows and possessed a little more composure than an ordinary hunter, though it was hard to say why.
Yet when Viserys had surveyed their surroundings earlier, even the nearest village had been almost thirty leagues away.
It was impossible for anyone to walk to such a remote stretch of lakeshore after nightfall, much less alone and without a torch.
So Viserys thought he was most likely a fugitive. That was why, upon noticing him earlier, he had used a little mental influence to guide him toward them.
Now the newcomer began to react differently. First, he stared blankly at the four Dragons, his gaze sliding back and forth among their enormous dark forms, before looking just as blankly at Viserys and Daenerys.
Only then did he fully come to his senses, a belated surge of astonishment rising in his throat. Why had I approached such enormous beasts for no reason?
Even resting