Once Daenerys was done, Drogo stood from where he'd been laying. He still felt weak, which he despised, but knew that the wound would now heal. He did not care that it would scar, Dothraki wore each scar with pride. It was just another to add to his his collection.

He grabbed a wine skin and drained it thoroughly, then threw the empty skin aside. The wine helped with the pain, which had now dulled to an ache. Having not eaten that much during the day, he also grabbed himself some dried horse meat. It would help him regain his strength, as would the sleep that his wife suggested.

"We should tie the witch down to stakes and let the crows feast on her while she still lives," he said as he walked to their bed. He was not nearly as forgiving as Daenerys, and did not consider second chances. For now, though, he laid down on their bed with his wife. "What would you do with her, moon of my life?"