They are poor fellows too. The mummers offthe Ship showed her how a hero stands, and taught her speeches from The Song of the Rhoyne. With a good brisk wind behind them, the Cinnamon Wind could outrun any galley, though she was helpless when becalmed. And the Dragonknight? She flung the bedclothes aside and swung her legs to the floor.
Even as a girl she had been shy. At the Mother's altar, a septon was leading a hundred sparrows in prayer, their voices as distant as waves upon the shore. Shafts of pale dawn light were slanting through the trees. If I fear the likes of these, I had as well swap my longsword for a pair of knitting needles.
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