Sansa's question doesn't quite snap her out of her reverie--she still stares at Drogo--but the brief softening to her evaporates, replaced by something rigid.

"He was." Out of all the bodies in stasis, it was his she'd avoided. There was something wrong about bearing witness to her husband's visage when she'd walked into the funeral pyre with his corpse. "Drogo.

"The Prince is riding. I have heard the thunder of his hooves," the old crone chants. The Dothraki around them grow louder the smaller the heart becomes in her hands. Drogo leans forward, an anticipatory look to him as he licks his lips. "Swift as the wind he rides. His enemies will cower before him."

Finally, finally, Dany looks away and glances at the others. "Over there--that's my brother, Viserys."