Swiftcurrent Creek the pointy end

It was easier not to think about October when she was talking; Rickon had something else to concentrate on. Putting images to her words was a welcome distraction, and even though his eyes wandered briefly to scan for missing children, his ears never ceased flicking towards her.

Though the subject of her tale was named Sonnet, he couldn't picture a princess that didn't appear to be October. Sonnet was a figure of white, caped with soot along her spine, and a crowning wreath of flowers and sunrays that marked her as the king's daughter. It was harder to imagine that she was a sad creature— because this meant thinking of October with a perpetual frown on her face— but he found himself enraptured. Wondering. Who or what could possibly make her smile?

Rickon felt a pause in the story, and withdrew from his pensive thoughts to turn a pale gaze upon her. He smiled, "how many fellas showed up? I bet the line of 'em wrapped 'round the kingdom twice, since she was so beautiful an' all."