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Jon

           Youmustnotbalk,whateverisaskedofyou.Heshiftedtoatwo-handgrip,quickenoughtodeliverastrokeofhisown,butthebigrangerbrusheditasidewithcontemptuousease.Backandforththeywent,blackcloaksswirling,theyouth’squicknessagainstthesavagestrengthofQhorin’sleft-handcuts.TheHalfhand’slongswordseemedtobeeverywhereatonce,rainingdownfromonesideandthentheother,drivinghimwherehewould,keepinghimoffbalance.Alreadyhecouldfeelhisarmsgrowingnumb.

           EvenwhenGhost’steethclosedsavagelyaroundtheranger’scalf,somehowQhorinkepthisfeet.Butinthatinstant,ashetwisted,theopeningwasthere.Jonplantedandpivoted.Therangerwasleaningaway,andforaninstantitseemedthatJon’sslashhadnottouchedhim.Thenastringofredtearsappearedacrossthebigman’sthroat,brightasarubynecklace,andthebloodgushedoutofhim,andQhorinHalfhandfell.

           Ghost’smuzzlewasdrippingred,butonlythepointofthebastardbladewasstained,thelasthalfinch.Jonpulledthedirewolfawayandkneltwithonearmaroundhim.ThelightwasalreadyfadinginQhorin’seyes."...sharp,"hesaid,liftinghismaimedfingers.Thenhishandfell,andhewasgone.

           Heknew,hethoughtnumbly.Heknewwhattheywouldaskofme.HethoughtofSamwellTarlythen,ofGrennandDolorousEdd,ofPypandToadbackatCastleBlack.

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