The wolf was looking at her. Its jaws were red and wet and its eyes glowed golden in the dark room. It was Bran’s wolf, she realized. Of course it was. “Thank you,” Catelyn whispered, her voice faint and tiny. She lifted her hand, trembling. The wolf padded closer, sniffed at her fingers, then licked at the blood with a wet rough tongue. When it had cleaned all the blood off her hand, it turned away silently and jumped up on Bran’s bed and lay down beside him. Catelyn began to laugh hysterically.
"Even though it’s a fantasy world and fictional, it’s not that far from the truth in some ways. There are a lot of people out there who are really suffering. Young people, kids, suffering terrible fates. It does affect you. I’m sitting here in this wonderful film set, extremely lucky. And not that far away there are people suffering hugely."
The stone is strong… The roots of the trees grow deep, and under the ground the Kings of Winter sit their thrones. So long as those remained, Winterfell remained. It was not dead, just broken. Like me… I’m not dead either. - Bran Stark