Gilly looked around, intrigued.
"All these books" she said.
"And drawings" said Sam. "Records of the greatest ever yachts to enter the Westeros Cup. Each tells a story."
Gilly looked at the first, a gaff rigged cutter. "So what happ'n to 'em?"
"They won" said Sam. "But then the crew were kissed with poisonous lipstick and they all died."
"Oh."
She moved onto the next, an elegant catamaran in what looked like tropical waters.
"And this?"
"It would have won, but was attacked by a dragon and burnt to the water-line, along with the crew".
She made a face, but then cheered up at sight of a lovingly drawn picture of a young girl sailing a tiny dinghy.
"Oh, she's so sweet! Not dragon fire I hope?"
Sam made a face. "No, not a dragon" and steered her onwards.
The next was a noble yacht, schooner rig with a giant stag on its sail.
"So what happened here?" she asked.
"On the final leg of the deciding race they turned the windward mark first and thought they had it in the bag. Then the other yacht rammed into them, boarded, and slew all of them."
It was Gilly's turn to make a face.
"Every race, they seem to end the same."
"Not the same, this wasn't dragon fire. Swords, daggers and lances...." his voice trailed off.
There was one drawing left, of a yacht with darkened timbers and the sign of the Night's Watch.
"Oooh, did you sail this one?" asked Gilly.
"Was that baby Sam?" asked Sam.
"I didn't hear anything."
"You better go and check."
She left, leaving Sam alone, staring at the yacht with darkened timbers. Outside the light was fading.
The silence was broken by the craw of a crow.
"Never more" it cried and the candle flickered and went out.
Sam was alone in the cold with his thoughts as dark as night.
Winter is coming.
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