'Move, pink!' Ferro turned and started running and Logen followed her. What else could he do? He ran. The horrible, breathless running of the hunted, shoulders prickling for a blow in the back, sucking in air in gasps, the slapping footfalls of the men behind echoing around him.
High white buildings flashed past on either side, windows, doors, statues, gardens. People too, shouting as they dived out of the way or flattening themselves against the walls. He had no idea where they were, no idea where they were going. A man stepped out of a doorway right in front of him, a big sheaf of papers in his arms. They crashed together, tumbled to the ground, rolling over and over in the gutter with papers flapping down all around them.
He tried to get up but his legs were burning. He couldn't see! There was a piece of paper across his face. He tore it away, felt someone grab him under the arm and haul him along. 'Up, pink!
'Move!' Ferro. She wasn't even out of breath. Logen's lungs were bursting as he struggled to keep up with her but she pulled steadily away, head down, feet flying.
- The Blade Itself, Part II, The Bloody-Nine