The saddle-bags showed that she was fresh from a journey, but her tirewoman's hands must have been busy, for she bore no marks of the road.
Her chin was in her hands, and the face defined by the slim fingers was small and delicate, pale with the clear pallor of perfect health, and now slowly flushing to some emotion.

The little chin was firm, but the mouth was pettish.

Her teeth bit on a gold chain, which encircled her neck and held a crystal reliquary.

A spoiled pretty child, she looked, and in a mighty ill temper.
The cause of it was a young man who stood disconsolately by a settle a little way out of the lantern's glow.

The dust of the white roads lay on his bodyarmour and coated the scabbard of his great sword.