Summer! Bran screamed.
And Summer came, shooting from the dimness behind them, a leaping shadow. He slammed into Shaggydog and knocked him back, and the two direwolves rolled over and over in a tangle of grey and black fur, snapping and biting at each other, while Maester Luwin struggled to his knees, his arm torn and bloody. Osha propped Bran up against Lord Rickard's stone wolf as she hurried to assist the maester. In the light of the guttering torch, shadow wolves twenty feet tall fought on the wall and roof.
Shaggy, a small voice called. When Bran looked up, his little brother was standing in the mouth of Father's tomb. With one final snap at Summer's face, Shaggydog broke off and bounded to Rickon's side. "You let my father be," Rickon warned Luwin. "You let him be."
Rickon, Bran said softly. "Father's not here."
Yes he is. I saw him. Tears glistened on Rickon's face. "I saw him last night."
In your dream... ?
Rickon nodded. "You leave him. You leave him be. He's coming home now, like he promised. He's coming home."
Bran had never seen Maester Luwin took so uncertain before. Blood dripped down his arm where Shaggydog had shredded the wool of his sleeve and the flesh beneath.