“The queen will catch you, then. She didn’t send gold cloaks after Ben Blackthumb!”
“Likely it wasn’t even me they wanted.”
“It was too, you know it. You’re somebody!”
“I’m a ‘prentice smith, and one day might be I’ll make a master armorer … if I don’t run off and lose my feet or get myself killed.” He turned away from her, picked up his hammer once more, and began to bang.
Arya’s hands curled into helpless fists. “The next helm you make, put mule’s ears on it in place of bull’s horns!” She had flee, or else she would have started hitting him. He probably wouldn’t even feel it if I did.
~ A Clash of Kings, p.681