Blues Skies, Prompt #3: Making Camp (ASOIAF)
Sansa looked at the lean to, which was only barely keeping out the snow as it drifted. She looked at it and imagined what she would have said when she was a girl if someone had told her in gruff tones to spread her cloak across this frozen ground.
Her face must have betrayed her thoughts, because his burnt face scowled at her from underneath his hood.
“Be glad you’ll have something as a break against the wind, little bird.” Sandor turned, yanking tightly on the ties securing the hide to the poles. “It might save our lives.”
Perhaps, perhaps not. Winter was no longer coming. It was here.
Sansa of Winterfell would have been too finely bred to make camp in such a manner with the Hound pressed against her back. But she had lived as Alayne and escaped death more than once, and she was just pleased to know that the man who had once had a kiss from her was alive and that his first thought when the world fell apart had been to find her. So, they could freeze here together for all she cared, food for wolves, as long as he was by her side.
Sandor thought she was still Sansa of Winterfell, who dreamt of knights and ladies in towers, and she did not want him to know yet what she had survived, what she had become. Not yet.