Chapter 230

At the Summerhall near the Boneway, Drogo had not slept a single moment through the night—not from anxiety over the coming war, but because the wound on his thigh had festered.

He refused to drink the milk-of-the-poppy that existed in his past life, for fear he would become addicted, lose himself, and end up a maddened monster like the Mountain.

He ordered the logistics men to prepare meals at the second watch, and had the entire army break camp at the fifth.