Flakes of ash drifted upward from a brazier, and Dany followed them with her eyes through the smoke hole above. Gods, he's only a little boy, helpless, sleeping . Osha stood, her chains rattling together. Catelyn nodded absently.
The smell that engulfed him was so queer and cold he almost gagged. Petyr had been a small boy, and he had grown into a small man, an inch or two shorter than Catelyn, slender and quick, with the sharp features she remembered and the same laughing grey-green eyes. The sellsword scrambled backward, checking each blow, stepping lithely over rock and root, his eyes never leaving his foe. They would never get him to Winterfell, he would have given odds on that.
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