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Every night it's the same.
l'm walking
and running, but
l'm not l'm not me.
l'm running through the godswood,
sniffing the dirt,
tasting blood in my mouth when l've made a fresh kill,
howling.
Old Nan used to tell me stories
about magical people who could live
inside stags, birds,
wolves.
That's exactly what they are, Bran,
-stories. -So she was lying?
-They don't exist? -Well, they may have done.
But they're gone from the world,
along with much else.
These are dreams, Bran, nothing more.
No, my dreams are different.
Mine are true.
l dreamt of my father dying.
And Rickon had the same dream.
What about all the dreams you had that didn't come true?
Hmm?
Right.
This link is made of Valyrian steel.
Only one maester in 1 00 wears it on his chain.
lt signifies that l have studied the higher mysteries.
And all who study these mysteries try their hand at spells.
l was no different.
l was young.
And what boy doesn't secretly wish for hidden powers
to lift him out of his dull life into a special one?
But in the end, for all my efforts,
l got no more out of it than a thousand boys before me.
Come on.
All right.
Maybe magic once was a mighty force in the world.
But not anymore.
The dragons are gone.
The giants are dead.
And the Children of the Forest forgotten.