ARYAAT WINTERFELL They had called her "Arya Horseface,"

And she’d thought nothing could be worse, but that was before the orphan boy, LommyGreenhands, had named her "Lumpyhead." Her head felt lumpy when she touched it. When Yoren had dragged her into that alley, she’d thought he meant to kill her, but the sour old man had only held her tight, sawing through her mats and tangles with his dagger. She remembered how the breeze sent the fistfuls of dirty brown hair skittering across the paving stones, toward the sept where her father had died. "I’m taking men and boys from the city," Yoren growled as the sharp steel scraped at her head. "Now you hold still, boy." By the time he had finished, her scalp was nothing but tufts and stubble. Afterward, he told her that from there to Winterfell, she’d be Arry's orphan boy. "Gate shouldn’t be hard, but the road’s another matter. You got a long way to go in bad company. I got thirty this time, men and boys all bound for the Wall, and don’t be thinking they’re like that bastard brother of yours. " He shook her. "Lord Eddard gave me pick of the dungeons, and I didn’t find any little lordlings down there. This lot, half of them, would turn you over to the queen quick as spit for a pardon and maybe a few silvers. The other half’d do the same, only they’d rape you first. So you keep yourself and make your water in the woods, alone. That’ll be the hardest part, the pissing, so don’t drink any more than you need. " Leaving King’s Landing was easy, just like he’d said. The Lannisterguardsmen on the gate were stopping everyone, but Yoren called one by name and their wagons were waved through. No one spared Arya a glance. They were looking for a highborn girl, daughter of the King’s Hand, not a skinny boy with his hair chopped off. Arya never looked back.