[ Theon toys with an ivory, flicking it between finger and thumb. He's lounging on a rough wooden bench, and he's propped the Forge up on the slightly raised bench behind it, giving him free hands and the feed a clear view of the circle of dirt and grass that makes up Wynn's arena. ]
I think this city is far more to my liking. Even if the women
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[Because you ...don't seem it.]
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We are Scorched. Mist-blessed.
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[ No-one ever gave him the Welcome-To-Anatole-How-May-I-Take-Your-Order spiel. ]
Believe me, I am far from blessed.
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Have you not noticed the great divide between we that came through the Door and those that were born of this place?
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