It is here by the Wrenhaven, I will make my last home. It stinks to the Void, but my grand mum's hagfish stew'll drive the odor away.
I remember sailing out on this river to the great Ocean, that vast blinding light and blue water. I was a tender fifteen and our nets were always full to bursting. The old days, before everything went to shit.
Any way it goes, it's either the boots of the Watch against my skull, the teeth of the rats on my bones, or the tremble of the plague all over my skin. Don't matter none to me.