It's with as great a dignity as she can muster than she tries once more to straighten her legs, taking an abundant care with each step, not to trip over a wet skirt or slip on a patch of ice, and most of all not collapse once more from a dizzy spell or simple fear from the wolf. It's for that reason alone than Anne doesn't shriek at Arya for daring to give her orders.

Forevermore, she is reminded that this is not England, and she is nothing. This depression is so great it almost over-rides her urge to find her daughter safe and sound. Almost.

"I would have the name of the girl who dares speak to me such. And the name of the...direwolf that has growled at me so."