Lounging on her side, Nymeria pays Stephanie no more mind than she would a squirrel. Her brother's head swivels toward the voice, but Grey Wind otherwise stays still. His fur has got longer. Arya carefully detangles a particularly ornery snarl.

She could mention how much they eat: easily summed up as "a lot." She and Robb only feed them every few days. Wolves do not eat every day and neither do theirs. But they never go a week without eating. Not when both have developed a taste for men. Nymeria, in particular, will eye residents and city people alike with a hungry glint.

Arya only shrugs, a movement easily lost amidst the brushing.