Her boots tore ankle-deep holes into the smooth white surface of the snow, yet made no sound. Sansa drifted past frosted shrubs and thin dark trees, and wondered if she were still dreaming. Drifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover’s kisses, and melted on her cheeks. (…) She could feel the snow on her lashes, taste it on her lips. It was the taste of Winterfell. The taste of innocence. The taste of dreams.
King Snow, isn’t it? No, that doesn’t sound right; King Jon?
It doesn’t matter.
The End is near.
70 favorite moments of GoT season 7: [45/70]
I wish you good fortune in the wars to come, Your Grace.