“Hodor?” Hodor blinked at him with guileless brown eyes, eyes innocent of understanding.
“Yes,” said Bran. “Hodor.”
The singers of the forest had no books. No ink, no parchment, no written language. Instead they had the trees, and the weirwoods above all. When they died, they went into the wood, into leaf and limb and root, and the trees remembered. All their songs and spells, their histories and prayers, everything they knew about this world.
He almost did that now, before he remembered he was a prince, and almost a man grown.
but rises again harder and stronger: house stark [with jack huston as brandon stark]
L: But the nights are colder now, and doors are closed … It was different when there was a Stark in Winterfell. But the old wolf’s dead and young one’s gone south to play the game of thrones, and all that’s left us is the ghosts.
J: The wolves will come again.