[ He looks like me. For I am his sister. (No, those are words that will never be spoken.) Alayne's lips press together as she struggles to find different words. A bottle of dye isn't enough to erase the echoes between her features and Robb's, her features and Bran's; dulling the Tully fire of her hair did nothing but extinguish the brightest burning torch, but there are other beacons, smaller and more subtle, that can just as easily light the way for an attentive eye. ]

Auburn curls and eyes, a piercing blue. He has not a beard, but scruff enough to scrape, and— [ It tickles when he kisses me on the forehead, but again that is a secret and will not help Jaye in any case. ] —and he has a nose, much like mine.

[ It's a dangerous clue to share. Much like mine. But better to have him be found than left to whatever treachery lies in the bowels of the ship. ]