Summer was a direwolf of like size to his siblings, large enough that his shoulders came up to the handles of Bran's chair with sharp teeth to match; he was not what one would typically call a puppy dog, no matter how sweet a disposition. He trotted over to the woman and sniffed her suspiciously as though confirming that she was indeed alive and not something undead in disguise. Convinced, he stepped forward and delicately took the treat from her hand.

"Summer," Bran said as he watched the woman. She seemed kind- everyone here was uncommonly nice with hardly any askance glances at his broken legs. Her Tully coloring reminded Bran of his mother, but this woman's eyes were strange. "I'm Bran."