[ For all that friendly intentions have been established, Jorah isn’t shy about watching out the side of his eye while George ferrets around in his bedroll.
By the light of the fire, he looks as weathered as he sounds. There are deep creases worn in around his eyes and over his brow, still furrowed with mistrust after the product of the search turns out to be a can. The bristle of his beard is flecked with grey and his hair is coarse, faded silver at the fringes. ]
I was in Essos.
[ He looks to the can, self-deprecating, as if he expects it to be more tolerant of his suspicions. ]
no subject
[ For all that friendly intentions have been established, Jorah isn’t shy about watching out the side of his eye while George ferrets around in his bedroll.
By the light of the fire, he looks as weathered as he sounds. There are deep creases worn in around his eyes and over his brow, still furrowed with mistrust after the product of the search turns out to be a can. The bristle of his beard is flecked with grey and his hair is coarse, faded silver at the fringes. ]
I was in Essos.
[ He looks to the can, self-deprecating, as if he expects it to be more tolerant of his suspicions. ]
Now I think I might be dead.