‘The land about them grew bleak and barren, though once, as Thorin told them, it had been green and fair. There was little grass, and before long there was neither bush nor tree, and only broken and blackened stumps to speak of ones long vanished. They were come to the Desolation of the Dragon, and they were come at the waning of the year.’ — The Hobbit
“Lord Roose never says a word, he only looks at me, and all I can think of is that room they have in Dreadfort where the Boltons hang the skins of their enemies.”
“That’s just one of Old Nan’s stories,” Bran said. A note of doubt crept into his voice. “Isn’t It?”
Ribalta. Detail from Dead Christ supported by Two Angels, 17th Century.