[Arya's still polishing her sword, but Nymeria's rolling about in her sleep. The wolf stirs and opens her eyes, slowly getting up to a sitting position. Nymeria turns her head to stare at the teenager, then back at Arya, nudging her softly in the upper arm. The direwolf then turns back to look at the boy again.
Arya, to put it simply, doesn't like people staring at her. She knows she looks like a boy sometimes. She doesn't need people pointing it out all the time. What would they like, a medal for their intelligence?]
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Arya, to put it simply, doesn't like people staring at her. She knows she looks like a boy sometimes. She doesn't need people pointing it out all the time. What would they like, a medal for their intelligence?]
What're you staring at me for?