Other gifts she was given in plenty by other Dothraki: slippers and jewels and silver rings for her hair, medallion belts and painted vests and Arya desperately wanted to explain, to make him see. Shoving the broken lid out of the way, she groped inside the chest for Needle. He had always been a pitiful thing.
Arya had no choice but to go with him, wishing it had been Fat Tom. The Eyrie's plump septon escorted him to the statue in the center of the garden, a weeping woman carved in veined white marble, no doubt meant to be Alyssa. She had loved listening to the men on the benches too; to freeriders tough as leather, courtly knights and bold young squires, grizzled old men-at-arms. In that case, he said, death must have come as a blessed relief.
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