Summer, to me, Bran called. The direwolf took one final sniff, spun, and bounded back.
Bran wrapped his arms around him.
"What are you doing here?"
He had not seen Osha since they'd taken her captive in the wolfswood, though he knew she'd been set to working in the kitchens.
They are my gods too, Osha said.
"Beyond the Wall, they are the only gods."
Her hair was growing out, brown and shaggy. It made her look more womanly,
that and the simple dress of brown roughspun they'd given her when they took her mail and leather.
"Gage lets me have my prayers from time to time, when I feel the need,
and I let him do as he likes under my skirt, when he feels the need.
It's nothing to me. I like the smell of flour on his hands, and he's gentler than Stiv."
She gave an awkward bow.
"I'll leave you. There's pots that want scouring."
No, stay, Bran commanded her.
"Tell me what you meant, about hearing the gods."
Osha studied him. "You asked them and they're answering.
Open your ears, listen, you'll hear."
Bran listened. "It's only the wind," he said after a moment, uncertain. "The leaves are rustling."
Who do you think sends the wind, if not the gods?
She seated herself across the pool from him, clinking faintly as she moved.