In the West, as Harrigton's crow painted its lands with blood under the shadow of its wings, the islanders from the North were drowning the realm in fear. The House Lorance in the Riverlands was mourning the loss of their noble kings. Meanwhile, the fate of the blue griffins was irreversibly changing. Under the shadows of all these silhouettes, every inhabitant of the land must have realized that an era was ending and another was beginning; perhaps only those who realized this would survive.