The fist of the first men2/2/2023 ![]() ![]() Through the drifting snow, all he could see was the huge fire at the center of the camp, with mounted men moving restlessly around it. Wights attacked us on the Fist, in snow, he wrote, but we drove them off with fire. It might have been Ser Mallador, but Sam could not swear to it. Still fighting on the Fist, amidst heavy snow, he wrote when someone shouted, “They’re still coming.” Result uncertain. ![]() He put that note aside and found another blank parchment. Sam hoped they were better archers than him. “Burn, you dead bastards, burn,” Dywen sang out, cackling. Attacked amidst snow and cold, but we’ve thrown them back with fire arrows, he wrote, as he heard Thoren Smallwood’s voice ring out with a command of, “Notch, draw…loose.” the flight of arrows made a sound as sweet as a mother’s prayer. ![]()
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