A typical Wildling camp. It seemed Mance had thrown everything he had learned in the Night's Watch back to nature.
Campfires and latrines sprawled haphazardly, children and goats wandered at will, sheep bleated among the bushes, and horsehides hung drying.
No planning, no order, no defenses. Men, women, and animals were everywhere.
Mostly, the people he was taming were villains from a harsh land, and they were indeed hard to teach.
These Wildlings did not understand what sort of authority a king held, but at least they feared the Magic Dragons.
Everyone watched the dragons in the sky: children crouching by fires, old women in dog carts, and cave dwellers with painted faces.
There were raiders with claws, vipers, and skulls painted on their shields, and spearwives whose long hair streamed in the wind.
"What an extraordinary place." Daenerys had her eyes opened.
Mance Rayder came out to greet them himself.
The King Beyond the Wall's ragged red-and-black cloak fluttered in the wind, and those others stood beside Mance.
The Vanguard, Harma Dogshead. The Weeper was plump, with watery eyes and a head of blond hair, carrying a huge, sharp steel scythe.
The Eagle Spirit, Varamyr Sixskins, had a Shadowcat and two lean grey wolves following beside him.
Beyond them were the figures of Giants, over ten feet tall, more mountainous than The Mountain, but somewhat clumsy.
"No king of the Iron Throne has ever ventured this far," Mance said.
"Now one has." Gendry rode Balerion, looking down on the Wildling party.
"You want us to kneel?" Mance asked.
"Why not?" Gendry asked Mance.
"No one is a match for me, never mind that I have hundreds of thousands of troops." Gendry brought Balerion down, and he and Daenerys jumped off the dragon's back.
The Magic Dragon had a fearsome,