Arya froze.
The wide eyes in her filthy little face stared at the approaching man.
Dust, blood, and exhaustion had almost completely obscured his original appearance.
But those features, those eyes, that voice...
She stood stunned for a few seconds, then sprang up from the ground and rushed toward him.
Robb frowned, instinctively reaching for his sword hilt.
But when he saw that it was only a skinny, unarmed girl charging toward him, he stopped.
Then the girl slammed into his chest, wrapping her arms so tightly around his waist that he swayed a little.
"Brother...!"
Robb went rigid.
That voice...
He looked down at the head pressed against his chest, so filthy he could not make out the hair's original color.
"...Arya?" The word squeezed out of his throat. He raised his arms but did not dare lower them.
She nodded vigorously and buried her face deeper in his leather armor, stained with dust and sweat. Her shoulders began to shake.
Robb slowly raised a hand and rested it on her trembling back.
This was real.
It wasn't a dream.
This was his little sister, the stubborn girl who had romped about like a boy since childhood, who drove him to distraction and whom he loved dearly.
An overwhelming surge of relief, heartache, and guilt broke through the dam of coldness and numbness he had built over the past several days.
His eyes reddened. He tightened his arms around his sister, rested his chin on her filthy, tangled hair, and closed his eyes.
After a moment, he forced himself to let go. He cupped her dirty little face and clumsily wiped away her tears with his thumbs.
Her hair had been hacked into a ragged mess, and her face was streaked with black and red.
If not for that