Myrcella's heart skipped a beat.
She looked at the red-haired woman standing in the doorway, arms folded as she leaned against the frame.
Sunlight streamed in from behind the woman, outlining her fiery hair in a vivid red halo.
Her face, usually so wild, bore a seriousness Myrcella had never seen before.
"Shoot... an arrow into my backside?"
Myrcella repeated the words instinctively, her green eyes filled with disbelief and confusion.
This was far too barbaric.
In King's Landing, the cruelest threats noble young ladies made were to spread rumors about one another at tea parties.
Or steal the knight someone fancied at a ball.
And then, at night...
Shoot someone in the backside?
Seven above.
That was the sort of thing only a drunk in a country tavern would say.
Yet somehow, looking at Ygritte's deliberately fierce expression, Myrcella felt much of her fear fade.
She even found it a little... funny.
"If you learn well, I can teach you archery."
Seeing that her threat seemed to have had little effect, Ygritte awkwardly added another line.
"Then you can shoot arrows into the backsides of those southern women you don't like."
Myrcella was utterly stunned.
She... seemed a little touched in the head.
Above the Narrow Sea, high over the clouds.
An invisible barrier kept out the biting wind, and Lynn felt not even a trace of cold.
He sat on the broad back of Winter's neck, gazing down at the endless blue sea below.
Westeros had dwindled to a distant line on the horizon.
The dragon's three heads each had their own task.
The largest head in the middle watched ahead warily, its golden slit pupils scanning everything on the sea.
The head on the left was rather drowsy, yawning now and then and breathing out a