The sharp sweet smell of them filled Hotah's nostrils each time he took a breath. I squeezed inside a hollow log and hid. Prince Maron raised them as a gift for his Tirgaryen bride, to mark Dome's marriage to the Iron Throne. This lord's father had found her whilst trading in the east.
The hardest part was struggling not to yawn. The last time I went to see her, her mother doused me with a kettle of soup. She smiled pleasantly. Though his neck still reddened when Pyp twisted him around into some folly, hours of work with sword and shield had flattened his belly, hardened his arms, broadened his chest.
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