He thrust his arm into the blackness inside the tomb, as into the mouth of some great beast. Nymeria was waiting for her in the guardroom at the base of the stairs. Like it or not, you are my Hand, damn you. It was full dark when finally Arya emerged into the night air.
Still, his voice was troubled. Ser Rodrik chose that moment to appear on deck. Easy, sweet lady, he said in a soft voice, quieting her with a touch. Behind them-after a quick bit of grumbling-the five clansmen followed on their undersize garrons, scrawny things that looked like ponies and scrambled up rock walls like goats.
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