The gods give many gifts, Bran. My sister is a hunter. It is given to her to run swiftly, and to stand so still she seems to vanish. She has sharp ears, keen eyes, a steady hand with net and spear. She can breathe mud and fly through trees. I could not do these things, no more than you could. To me the gods gave the green dreams, and to you…you could be more than me, Bran. You are the winged wolf, and there is no saying how far and high you might fly.