Its maw was easily large enough to bite off at least half the body of a woman grown, and its teeth were as big and as sharp as a well-made dagger. The crimson horns and crest contrasted devilishly with the pitch-black scales and made for an eerie and terrifying sight. Its expression was forever frozen in a savage grimace of pain and fury, just like the other dragon. The cut was impossibly clean, and scales and spikes were seamlessly severed with unnatural precision in what appeared to be a single slash. Before coming here, neither she nor any of her cousins had even seen a dragon, just heard distant tales about them. Even when it was confirmed that Daenerys truly had brought the fire-breathing creatures of myth and legend back into the world, it felt like a distant thing, happening far, far away. But here, in Winterfell, everything had become terrifyingly real.