Davos remembers, once, seeing a depiction of a unicorn; there was a tapestry of it, he can’t even remember where, portraying a beautiful silvery white horse with an elegant horn, grazing in a meadow filled with flowers and surrounded by trees, with a little brook running past it. It is only now, years later and on an island he hadn’t ever thought he would visit, that he remembers it.

Looking at the scraggly, dirty beast before him, running after the young Stark with squat legs and somehow unafraid of the massive direwolf beside it, Davos knows that he will never be able to think about unicorns the same way again.