All this talk of people not pulling their weight has Frank's trigger finger twitching at his side, tick, tick, tick in the small crowd, but his weight shifts back onto his heels, and his body language shrinks into the background a little. Margaery is right, anybody sitting on their asses while their neighbors starve ought to be brought to somebody's attention — and Frank could easily provide a deterrent. But this isn't the time nor the place to voice his opinions on crime and punishment, and he's a little grateful the conversation veers onto another subject before he convinces himself otherwise.

He nods to Raven. "She's right. Putting the weapons any farther out of reach doesn't do us any favors." But Sam has a good point too, "If there's a smokehouse in the butcher's, though, or a fire pit we can salvage, or even a couple sheet tipis over holes in the ground, that's something that ought to be away from the rest of the buildings anyway. Last thing we need is a fire."