Atop the icy parapets, the straw soldiers stoodcollecting arrows, but there was no sign of any other activity. Jaime pushed her away with the stump of his right hand. The wildling archers shot as they advanced; they would dash forward, stop,loose, then run another ten yards. Thelast black brothers to visit Winterfell said that Benjen Stark had vanished ona ranging, but surely he would have made his way back by now.
No, Bran thought, but he walked in this castle, where we'll sleep tonight. Your Grace, was all he had time to say before theking upended the chalice over his head. Wildlings flew to meet them, shouting war cries and waving clubs andbronze swords and axes made of flint, galloping headlong at their ancientenemies. With slow, steady, rhythmic strokes, they threaded their way downstream,sliding above the sunken galleys, past broken masts, burned hulls, and tornsails.
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