Her stomach roiled and heaved, yet she kept on, her face smeared with the heartsblood that sometimes seemed toexplode against her lips.
Khal Drogo stood over her as she ate, his face as hard as a bronze shield. His long black braid was shiny withoil. He wore gold rings in his mustache, gold bells in his braid, and a heavy belt of solid gold medallions around his waist, but his chest was bare. She looked at him whenever she felt her strength failing; looked at him, and chewed and swallowed, chewed and swallowed, chewed and swallowed. Toward the end, Dany thought she glimpsed a fierce pride in his dark, almond-shaped eyes, but she could not be sure. The khal's face did not often betray the thoughts within.
And finally it was done. Her cheeks and fingers were sticky as she forced down the last of it. Only then did she turn her eyes back to the old women, the crones of the dosh khaleen.
Khalakka dothrae mr'anha! she proclaimed in her best Dothraki. A prince rides inside me! She had practiced thephrase for days with her handmaid Jhiqui.
The oldest of the crones, a bent and shriveled stick of a woman with a single black eye, raised her arms on high. "Khalakka dothrae!" she shrieked. The prince is riding!