Winter had long since grown beyond anything anyone could imagine. In flight, he was like a gale sweeping across the snowfields, or a modern airliner, blotting out the sky.
Lynn pondered.
If the Dragonpit had not restricted Winter's growth, perhaps he could have grown another meter.
Ned Stark sat on Winter's broad back.
The icy wind poured into his mouth and nose, yet brought him a sense of ease he had not felt in a long time.
King's Landing, that city steeped in intrigue and rot, had finally been left far behind.
He glanced back.
Lynn and Myrcella sat close together behind him, with Jaime farther back.
The former Kingsguard wore a complicated expression, mixing wonder with wariness.
But Jaime, who feared neither heaven nor earth, felt inexplicably dizzy and kept wanting to vomit.
In less than two days, they covered a distance that would have taken ordinary travelers over half a month.
When Winterfell's gray outline appeared on the horizon, Ned's eyes actually grew moist.
He was home.
The gates were already open.
Robb Stark, dressed in heavy furs, was pacing anxiously outside.
He was still waiting for news of Theon's capture.
When he saw that ungrateful Winter returning with his father on his back, the anxiety on his face instantly gave way to tremendous delight.
"Father!"
"What brings you home?"
Winter landed, and Ned swung down, landing firmly in the snow.
He looked at his eldest son, who had already grown taller than him, and at that face so much like his own, yet younger and more resolute. A flood of emotions filled his heart.
He had been away too long. This young wolf had matured.
Robb hurried forward, about to embrace his father.
But the instant he met Ned's eyes, he froze.
Ned's gaze was calm.
Yet