“The Dothraki Sea,” Ser Jorah Mormont said as he reined to a halt beside her on the top of the ridge.  Beneath them, the plain stretched out immense and empty, a vast flat expanse that reached to the distant horizon and beyond. It was a sea, Dany thought.  Past here, there were no hills, no mountains, no trees nor cities nor roads, only the endless grasses, the tall blades rippling like waves when the winds blew.  “It’s so green,” she said.

“Here and now,” Ser Jorah agreed. “You out to see it when it blooms, all dark red flowers from horizon to horizon, like a sea of blood. Come the dry season, and the world turns the color of old brone.  And this is only hranna, child.  There are a hundred kinds of grass out there, grasses as yellow as lemon and as dark as indigo, blue grasses and orange grasses and grasses like rainbows. Down in the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai, they say there are oceans of ghost grass, taller than a man on horesback with stalks as pale as milkglass.  It murders all other grass and glows in the dark with the spirits of the damned.  The Dothraki claim that someday ghost grass will cover the entire would, and then all life will end.”

That thought gave Dany the shivers.  “I don’t want to talk about that now,” she said. “It’s so beautiful here, I don’t want to think about everything dying.”