Bran(8)
Bran’s heart was thumping in his chest as he pushed through a waist-high drift to his brothers’ side.
Half-buried in bloodstained snow, a huge dark shape slumped in death. Ice had formed in itsshaggy grey fur, and the faint smell of corruption clung to it like a woman’s perfume. Bran glimpsedblind eyes crawling with maggots, a wide mouth full of yellowed teeth. But it was the size of it thatmade him gasp. It was bigger than his pony, twice the size of the largest hound in his father’s kennel.
“It’s no freak,” Jon said calmly. “That’s a direwolf. They grow larger than the other kind.”
Theon Greyjoy said, “There’s not been a direwolf sighted south of the Wall in two hundred years.”
“I see one now,” Jon replied.
Bran tore his eyes away from the monster. That was when he noticed the bundle in Robb’s arms.
He gave a cry of delight and moved closer. The pup was a tiny ball of grey-black fur, its eyes stillclosed. It nuzzled blindly against Robb’s chest as he cradled it, searching for milk among his leathers,making a sad little whimpery sound. Bran reached out hesitantly. “Go on,” Robb told him. “You cantouch him.”