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“You are Arya of Winterfell, daughter of the North. You told me you could be strong. You have the wolf blood in you.”

There's this great pack, hundreds of them, mankillers. The one that leads them is a she-wolf, a bitch from the seventh hell.

Princess Arya of House Stark, Lady of Winterfell.

Men will call you a crow. Him they'll call Your Grace. Singers will praise every little thing he does, while your greatest deeds all go unsung. Tell me that none of this troubles you, Jon . . . and I'll name you a liar, and know I have the truth of it. -ACoK, Jon I

"Will he howl for me when I'm dead, as Bran's wolf howled when he fell?" Jon wondered."

"Jon fell to his knees. He found the dagger’s hilt and wrenched it free. In the cold night air the wound was smoking. “Ghost,” he whispered. Pain washed over him. Stick them with the pointy end. When the third dagger took him between the shoulder blades, he gave a grunt and fell face-first into the snow. He never felt the fourth knife. Only the cold … "

"Off in the distance, a wolf howled. The sound made her feel sad and lonely, but no less hungry. As the moon rose above the grasslands, Dany slipped at last into a restless sleep."