'Practical Frost, the Inquisitor is bleeding! If you please!'
'I'th thorry.' The iron scraped as Frost dragged it from the brazier, glowing
orange. Glokta could feel the heat of it even from where he was sitting. Ah, hot iron.
It keeps no secrets, it tells no lies.
'No! No! I—' Harker's words dissolved into a bubbling scream as Frost ground
the brand into the wound and the room filled slowly with the salty aroma of cooking
meat. A smell which, to Glokta's disgust, caused his empty stomach to rumble. How
long is it since I had a good slice of meat? He wiped a fresh sheen of sweat from
his face with his free hand and worked his aching shoulders under his coat.
Joe Abercrombie - Before they are hanged
Kick ass moment #1
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