The yells and sprinkles soon drew others:

Cayn’s boy, Calon, and TomToo, whose father Fat Tom had kicked the bucket with Bran’s father at King’s Landing. Some time recently, exceptionally long, each one of them was splashed and muddy. Palla was brown from head to heel, with greenery in her hair, breathless from giggling. Bran had not listened to so much giggling since the night the bloody raven came. On the off chance that I had my legs, I’d thump all of them into the water, he thought sharply. No one would ever be the ruler of the crossing but me. Finally, Rickon came running into the godswood, Shaggydog at his heels. He observed Turnip and Small Walder battle for the adhere until Turnip misplaced his balance and went in with a gigantic sprinkle, arms waving. Rickon hollered, "Me! Immediately! I need to play! " Shaggydog called him on, and Shaggydog began to take after him. "No, Shaggy," his brother commanded. "Wolves can’t play. You remain with Bran. " And he did...until Small Walder smacked Rickon across the stomach with the stick. Some time recently, Bran c