fearcutsdeeperthanswords: (I'll be a hurricane when i grow up)
[Spam for Polly]

[She sleeps without moving, and has for weeks now. Nymmeria is not remotely a fan of it. Sometimes at night she'll jump up to lay beside her; right now, she's sitting with her chin laying on the foot of Arya's bed, paying rapt attention as she peers over the girl's toes.

It's definitely not Nymeria Arya notices when she wakes, though. The wolf's intense staring wouldn't alarm her nearly so much as Polly's does.

At least she doesn't shout. Gray eyes go wide, and half a second later her left fists snaps up, aimed almost without thought for her warden's nose.]


[Public]

I still think Christmas is stupid. I don't care about some dead man's birthday, or some fat man in a suit. What's the point?

[Private to the Admiral]

I don't need naps, and if I did, they shouldn't be this long.

You stupid.

the mouth on this girl )

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When at last she slept, she dreamed of home. The kingsroad wound its way past Winterfell on its way to the Wall, and Yoren had promised he'd leave her there with no one any wiser about who she'd been. She yearned to see her mother again, and Robb and Bran and Rickon...But it was Jon Snow she thought of most. She wished somehow they could come to the Wall before Winterfell, so Jon might muss up her hair and call her "little sister." She'd tell him, "I missed you," and he'd say it too at the very same moment, the way they always used to say things together. She would have liked that. She would have liked that better than anything.