118 GEORGE R. The last was black, as black as a midnight sea, yet alive with scarlet ripples and swirls. Fear cuts deeper than swords, she told herself, to slow the racing of her heart. His hands still smelled of horse blood.
What of my sisters? The message made no mention of Lord Eddard or the girls. Yet here he was, with a scruff of beard that made him look almost a man. If she looked back she was lost. Chett dropped the leash and stumbled backward.
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