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"Without a doubt, you may," Cressen replied. As if he could ever say no to her. had been denied again and again in her time. Her name was Shireen. She would be on her next birthday, and she was the saddest kid that MaesterCressen had at any point known. The elderly person thought,one more characteristic of my disappointment. "Maester Pylos, do me a favor and bring the bird down from the rookery for the Woman Shireen." "It would be an unparalleled delight for me." Pylos was a respectful youth, something like five-and-twenty, yet serious as a man of sixty. If by some stroke of good luck, he had more humor and more life in him, that was required here. Dismal spots required easing up,not seriousness, and Dragonstone was troubling undeniably, a desolate stronghold in the wet waste encompassed by tempest and salt, with the smoking shadow of the mountain at its back. A maester should go where he is sent, so Cressen had come here with his master around twelve years ago, and he had served, and served well. However, he had never cherished Dragonstone, nor had he at any point felt really at home here. Of late, when he woke from anxious dreams in which the redhead figured stunningly, he frequently didn't have the foggiest idea where he was. The idiot turned his fixed and piebald head to watch Pylos climb the steep iron moves toward the rookery. His chimes rang with the movement. "Under the ocean, the birds have scales for feathers," he said, thumping. "I know, I know, goodness, gracious, goodness." In any event, for a moron, Patchface was something to be sorry for. Maybe once he could bring out hurricanes of giggling with a joke, but the ocean had taken that power from him, alongside around 50% of his brains and all his memory. He was delicate and large, prone to jerks and shudders, off and on again. The young lady was the one in particular who snickered at him now, the one in particular who minded on the off chance that he lived or kicked the bucket. A revolting young lady and a miserable nitwit, plus mother... Currently, there is a story to make men sob. "Sit with me, kid." Cressen enticed her nearer. "This is ahead of schedule to come calling, scant past first light. You ought to be cozy in your bed. " "I had awful dreams," Shireen told him. "About the winged serpents. They were coming to eat me. The youngster had been tormented by bad dreams as far back as MaesterCressen could recall. "We have discussed this previously," he said tenderly. Mythical beasts can't show some signs of life. Youngster, they're made of stone. In former times,