She was no one’s daughter now. She was no one. Not Arya, not Weasel, not Nan nor Arry nor Squab, not even Lumpyhead. She was only some girl who ran with a dog by day, and dreamed of wolves by night.
I had a man once. A good man. Bruni, his name was. I was his and he was mine. But one night Bruni disappears. People said he left me, but I knew him. He’d never leave me. Not for long. I knew he’d come back. And he did. He came in through the back of the hut. Only it wasn’t Bruni. Not really.
(requested by anonymous.)