The sun wasstruggling to break through the clouds, but Tyrion could no more have said whowas going to win that fight than the one on which his life depended. He stood in the horse'spath, his vest stretched tight across his broad back. They shoved itover together. No, Donal Noye roared at three of the Mole's Town men, down below.
The thought was exciting anddisturbing, both at once. Who is it this time, Slayer? You? No. The piping, drumming, and fiddlingtrailed off into quiet. She had a pretty face, hethought, but her eyes were sad and wary.
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