just imagine: Sansa, free of Littlefinger and out of the Vale. The night is cold, the woods dark and Sandor on edge. The howling of wolves draws closer, the steel he holds feels pityful as the packleader breaks through the trees. The beast freezes, snarls, her small cousins waiting for her to attack. Sansa steps around her protector, hand outstretched.
“Nymeria,“she whispers, and the direwolf nuzzles her hand, whining. Sansa falls to her knees and buries her face in the wolf’s fur.
Half a world away, a nameless girl dreams of finding her sister.
Better pics of the black dragon armor with elder Futhark runic borders. The runes spell out the following:
“This thing all things devours: Birds, beasts, trees, flowers; Gnaws iron, bites steel; Grinds hard stones to meal; Slays king, ruins town, And beats high mountain down.”
(Gollum’s final riddle from the Hobbit)
“I met a traveler from an antique land Who said: ‘Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand, Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed: And on the pedestal these words appear: “My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!” Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away.’”
(Ozymandias by Percy Bysshe Shelley)
We wonder—and some hunter may express Wonder like ours, when through the wilderness Where London stood, holding the wolf in chase, He meets some fragment huge, and stops to guess What powerful but unrecorded race Once dwelt in that annihilated place.”