Even at a distance, Sir Jaime Lannister was unmistakable. The moonlight had silvered his armor and the gold of his hair, and turned his crimson cloak to black. He was not wearing a helm.
He was there and he was gone again, his silvery armor obscured by the trees once more. Others came behind him, long columns of them, knights and sworn swords and freeriders, three quarters of the Lannister horse.
He is no man for sitting in a tent while his carpenters build siege towers, Sir Brynden had promised. "He has ridden out with his knights thrice already, to chase down raiders or storm a stubborn holdfast."
Nodding, Robb had studied the map her uncle had drawn him. Ned had taught him to read maps. "Raid him here," he said, pointing. "A few hundred men, no more. Tully banners. When he comes after you, we will be waiting…"his finger moved an inch to the left. "...Here."
Here was a hush in the night, moonlight and shadows, a thick carpet of dead leaves underfoot, densely wooded ridges sloping gently down to the streambed, the underbrush thinning as the ground fell away.
Here was her son on his stallion, glancing back at her one last time and lifting his sword in salute.