Meu pequeno paraíso.

Jon messed up her hair. “I will miss you, little sister.”
      Suddenly she looked like she was going to cry. “I wish you were coming with us.”
      “Different roads sometimes lead to the same castle. Who knows?” He was feeling better now. He was not going to let himself be sad. “I better go. I’ll spend my first year on the Wall emptying chamber pots if I keep Uncle Ben waiting any longer.”
      Arya ran to him for a last hug. “Put down the sword first,” Jon warned her, laughing. She set it aside almost shyly and showered him with kisses.
When he turned back at the door, she was holding it again, trying it for balance. “I almost forgot,” he told her. “All the best swords have names.”
      “Like Ice,” she said. She looked at the blade in her hand. “Does this have a name? Oh, tell me.”
      “Can’t you guess?” Jon teased. “Your very favorite thing.”
Arya seemed puzzled at first. Then it came to her. She was that quick. They said it together:
      “Needle!”
      The memory of her laughter warmed him on the long ride north.

This sibling love, I cherish so much.