And yet Surnmerhall was the place the prince loved best. Gregor Cleganewith a pelt, he thought, though likely smarter. Clegane studied the boy and never said a word. I am Oberyn Martell, a prince of Dome, he said,as the Mountain turned to keep him in sight.
Thewhite cold's rising out there, crow. With a shout of revulsion, he hacked down savagely on the broken oak,completing its destruction. The dais still stood beneath the empty iron Throne, though all but one tablehad been removed. To his left were three great firepits, where the victors had burnedthe bodies of all the free folk to die beneath the Wall, huge pelted giantsand little Hornfoot men alike.
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