“Do you mean to make me beg, bitch? The gift of mercy… avenge your little Michael…” “Mycah.” Arya stepped away from him. “You don’t deserve the gift of mercy.” […] Maybe some real wolves will find you, Arya thought. Maybe they’ll smell you when the sun goes down. Then he would learn what wolves did to dogs. “You shouldn’t have hit me with an axe,” she said. “You should have saved my mother.” She turned her horse and rode away from him and never looked back once.