I was jealous of Robb my whole life. The way my father looked at him, I wanted that. He was better than me at everything - fighting and hunting and riding. And girls. Gods, the girls loved him.
Red eyes, red mouth, white fur. Blood and bone, like a heart tree. He belongs to the old gods, this one. And he alone of all the direwolves was white. Six pups they found in the late summer snows, him and Robb; five that were grey and black and brown, for the five Starks, and one white, as white as Snow.