He had washed off all the blood, grime and mud he had accumulated in the past few days. He even took his sweet time to carefully shave his facial hair with one razor he had looted. He was tempted to cut off his long locks too, but something stopped his hand. There were a few small rivers and springs in the wolfswood, and he had regularly used them to clean himself up, but after he had finished his bronze armour, he had begun aggressively hunting and killing every Bolton man he and his direwolf managed to find, forgoing everything but food, drink and only sleeping the bare minimum. After his quick bath, he put on a pair of woollen breeches and a linen shirt from his bearskin bag, tied his sword belt on his waist and started walking around the camp deep in thought, without any specific direction.