A tongue of flame trailed back from the upraised torch as he went. The sun had set. Their eyes found Lannister, or perhaps they caught his scent. You are a boy of fourteen, Benjen said.
You're hurt, she said. For an instant a thousand droplets of scarlet flame swam before her eyes. Her hands buried themselves in his hair, his tangled golden hair, and pulled his face down to her breast. PleaseJon put his spurs to horseflesh, and the mare bolted for the door.
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