Arya did know how she felt about the change of environment: Dissatisfied. She'd been looking forward to the snow, to a slightly colder environment, something more her. Something she could actually think about in those terms.

But it had come wrapped in a city that reminded her, vaguely, of King's Landing, of her time in Flea Bottom. Nymeria didn't know how to take it, either. She appreciated the cold, Arya thought, but would have preferred it wild.

So the two of them slunk along the streets, Arya with her hands in the pockets of the breeches she'd managed to scavenge, until Nymeria tore off to circle around the smaller dog and Claire.

"Don't worry, she won't eat him," she said. "Probably."