a banger in the mouth

Arya clucked to Visenya, letting the reins fall slack against the mare's neck, and slid from the saddle. The still-healing gash across her thigh screamed in protest, her left leg almost collapsing under her slight weight. She clung to the straps securing her bedroll to the saddle and panted through the wave of pain. Her pulse pounded in her ears and in the swollen flesh where the sailor's knife had bitten through her leathers.

Sweat curled down the side of her face. Visenya snorted and shifted her weight, almost sending Arya sprawling again.

In the grand scheme of things, following someone you hardly knew and could barely stand halfway across the state to take them up on a job offer was ... a pretty great idea?

Yeah, it took Charlotte by surprise, too.

Ricky was, well, Ricky. Uh, Mr Collins, though it was hard to remember to call him that. He'd always been Ricky, since the first time she found him hiding behind the coats in kindergarten. She would swear he even still had the same rainboots, albeit in a more age-appropriate size.

For weeks she had been terrified at every moment, from morning to night. Her fear was a monster waiting to snatch her up in its jaws whenever it pleased. It followed her into sleep and waited for her to awake. The queen knew she was ready to bear the king's children, and every day she waited to hear that her wedding day had been set. Or for Joffrey to tell her himself, his foul lips curving around the words she never wanted to hear. Now that Stannis had retreated, there was nothing to stand in their way.