"I tore it." She looks down at the bloody gash on her thigh, where the flesh hangs as ragged as the jumpsuit, and bites her lip as she limps after him. Blood always made her feel sick. "When Winterfell burned, and I was running, and..."

Tears are threatening. Tears, and a wild outflow of words she isn't sure she can afford. She clamps down on both of them, pressing her lips together, and wipes her eyes on her sleeve. "I caught it on a spar," she says at last, when she's sure she has herself under control. "It isn't deep. I checked. But I don't have anything to sew with any more, so I couldn't sew it up."