Preface lord the clash

The comet's tail spread across the first light, a red cut that drained over the bluffs of Dragonstone like an injury in the pink and purple sky. The maester remained in the desolate gallery outside his chambers. It was here the ravens came, after a lengthy flight. Their droppings spotted the figures of grotesqueness that rose twelve feet tall on one or the other side of him, a hellhound and an awyvern, two of the thousand that agonized over the walls of the old post. At the point when he first came to Dragonstone, the multitude of stone grotesques had made him uncomfortable. However, as the years passed, he had grown used to them. Presently, he considered them lifelong companions. The three watched the sky together with premonition. The maester didn't have confidence in the signs. But... old as he was, Cressenhad never seen a comet half so splendid, nor yet that tone, that horrible variety,the shade of blood and fire and dusk. He contemplated whether his figures of deformity had at any point seen its like. They'd been here a lot longer than he had, and would be here for a long time after he was gone.In the event that stone tongues could talk, Such imprudence. He rested up against the tower, the ocean crashing underneath him, the dark stone harsh underneath his fingers. Talking Beasts and
predictions overhead. I'm an old man who was once ecstatic as a child.Had a lifetime's hard-won intelligence escaped him alongside his wellbeing and strength? He was a maester, prepared and bound in the incomparable fortress of Oldtown. What had he come to, when a strange notion filled his head as though he were an oblivious fieldhand? However... however...Even by day now, while pale darksteam rose from the hot vents of Dragonmont behind the palace, a white raven had brought word from the actual Bastion, wordlong-expected, however, no less afraid for all that, an expression of summer's end. Signs, all. It's beyond any reasonable amount to deny. What does everything mean? He needed to cry. "Maester Cressen, we have guests." Pylos talked delicately, as though hesitant to upset Cressen's grave contemplations. Had he understood what flimflam filled his head, he would have yelled. "The princess would see the white raven."