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Frozen leaves poked out from beneath footprints in the snow as Daenerys followed the trail of those who'd walked the path before her, clumsy and heavy-footed in thick fur and leather boots. She'd grown too used to the freedom and flexibility of her sandals and her silks before crossing the Narrow Sea to Westeros, and while they may have served her well in Dorne, the North was not so forgiving. Never had that been clearer than in the gnarled features of the bone-white weirwood at the centre of the godswood. Little dragons, no matter how fierce, held no power here.