Arya was having another wolf dream, her pack circling in on a small party of armed men. Wet weather dampened their fire and it shed little light or warmth.
They might have passed them by – the men were armed – but some instinct made her single one out. He took his sword when he went to relieve himself, but was no match for a direwolf.
Arya tossed in her sleep as Nymeria tore Raff to pieces, her human mind calling out for him to die. She woke with the word on her lips and the taste of blood in her mouth.