He did not have to reach for the sword at his side. Greywind was his weapon and the direwolf tensed. He would leap before the threat ever reached him. Calmly Robb studied the figure before him not convinced that this man was a threat. “I do not know.” The man was caked with grime and blood. Old blood, not his own. Robb glanced down at his chest again still a little surprised not to find blood there. Then locked eyes with the strange man. “You were in a battle?” This was not one of his men, the weapon, his dress, even his manner told Robb that but he had the look of battle. The battlefield instead of a betrayal.