You can never see too many sunsets on the Blue Ridge Parkway. After the first snow in Virginia this winter, photographer Brandon Dewey drove out to capture the sights. “The sky normally lights up once the sun dips behind the mountain ridges, but this night, there wasn’t that much color. About 20 minutes after sunset, I was just about to pack up my gear when the sky finally caught on fire for less than two minutes.” Photo courtesy of Brandon Dewey.
Scooby-dooby-doo, where are you? We’ve got some work to do now…
After the suspicious deaths of their father, mother, two brothers, and practically all of their family dogs, the surviving Stark children decide to investigate—and seek vengeance. They team up with their cousin Jon, who owns a van and a deadly-but-insatiable dog, Ghost.
The kids find out they’re good at catching schemers like Janos Slynt, Walder Frey, and Ramsay Bolton. But with each conniving villain they end, another clue is revealed—and an even more dangerous face. With this many players in the game, will the Mystery Inc. ever cross off all the names on their list? Or will the murderers get away with it despite the kids’ meddling?
i brought you flowers, lya. flowers for you. they’re your favorites–the blue winter roses. brandon never noticed, but i did.
they are dying in his hands, the flowers he brought her from the north. he’d tried drying the petals the way that lya had used to do, but he’d done it wrong. mayhaps you couldn’t dry the whole rose. mayhaps you could only dry the petals when you’d plucked them away from the flower.
it was stupid to bring them.
you stupid! she was always calling them stupid. brandon when he tried to pull rank and age, ned when he tried to reason with her–both stupid. stupid boys. sometimes it was fond, other times it was not. you truly think robert will change for me? don’t be stupid, ned. don’t be stupid.
there’s blood on the roses. arthur dayne’s blood, and gerold hightower’s. blood because there’s blood on his hands. ned tried to wipe the blood away so the roses wouldn’t be covered in it but he hadn’t done it well enough. it will be all right, though. lya will call him stupid–the fond sort of stupid–and she’ll smile at and it will be all right.
eddard! she’d screamed to him before the fight, a name she only used when something was wrong. truly wrong. eddard, when mother had died, eddard, when ben had fallen from a tree and broken his leg, eddard, the last time he’d seen her before…
she was captive. that’s all.
he can’t imagine her a captive. he can’t imagine the white knights of the kingsguard knowing what to do with her. he imagines her trying to climb down the tower through her window the way she’d used to climb the burned tower at winterfell, he imagines her making pointed comments about how swordsmanship doesn’t make a man, he imagines her berating them for what true knight holds a girl captive? what prince does? how can they live with themselves?
it will be all right. lya fights everything. it was just a warning–that ser arthur is–was–the best swordsman, that there were three of them, that–
blood on the floor, blood on the bed, blood between her legs. her face is pale as death and her lips are dry and cracked and scabbed, and her grey eyes are shining with fever.