"I am a healer," Mirri Maz Duur said.
"A healer of sheeps," sneered Qotho. "Blood of my blood, I say kill this maegi and wait for the hairless men."
Dany ignored the bloodrider's outburst. This old, homely, thickbodied woman did not look like a maegi to her. "Where did you learn your healing, Mirri Maz Duur?"
"My mother was godswife before me, and taught me all the songs and spells most pleasing to the Great Shepherd, and how to make the sacred smokes and ointments from leaf and root and berry. When I was younger and more fair, I went in caravan to Asshai by the Shadow, to learn from their mages. Ships from many lands come to Asshai, so I lingered long to study the healing ways of distant peoples. A moonsinger of the Jogos Nhai gifted me with her birthing songs, a woman of your own riding people taught me the magics of grass and corn and horse, and a maester from the Sunset Lands opened a body for me and showed me all the secrets that hide beneath the skin."
Sir Jorah Mormont spoke up. "A maester?"
"Marwyn, he named himself," the woman replied in the Common Tongue. "From the sea. Beyond the sea. The Seven Lands, he said. Sunset Lands. Where men are iron and dragons rule. He taught me this speech."