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He continued to yell after her even as he watched her ride away, hard-backed and determined. He had always admired that determination, even if it sometimes made her a pain in his arse.
Sandor's breath rattled from his lips, his strength draining out with the blood. He was alone again and the wind sweeping down from the mountains chilled him. He tried closing his eyes, waiting for the inevitable, but instead of black, he saw Arya's cold, hard eyes staring at him. In his almost delirious state, he opened his eyes again, hoping she had circled back to give him mercy, but there was no one.
A weak sob left him; why not - there was no one to hear it. His mind was beginning to grow hazy, but his thoughts kept coming back to his little she-wolf. It had been months since he had plucked her from the outskirts of those Brotherhood cunts' camp. She had been a difficult little shit from the start, but despite himself, he had grown fond of her.
Or maybe, Sandor thought as a sharp pain in his side made him growl, maybe I was more fond of the idea that there was someone who wasn't afraid of me or my scars.
He coughed, spitting blood over what remained of his armor; that massive blonde bitch really had fucked him up good. Now that the adrenaline of the fight, of his last encounter with that Stark brat had left, he could feel everything. His head was pounding like nothing he'd ever felt - even his worst hangover multiplied tenfold held nothing on this. He could feel the dull ache in his balls from where that dumb cunt had landed a low blow; a smile stretched Sandor's bloody lips as he replayed paying her back for that.
The smile faded as his mind went back to Arya, his eyes flashing with anger as he groaned aloud, "Stupid bitch, she didn't want to go with you!" She had wanted to stay with him, or so he had thought, and he had fought to keep her. But he had lost, and though the little wolf wasn't with Brienne of fucking Tarth, she had left him all the same.
With a shudder, Sandor realized that even with his eyes open, he could still see her blue-grey eyes, staring at him with contempt and sheer fucking hatred. He heard a noise leave him - something between a groan and a sob. Before they'd made it to the Eyrie, he'd thought Arya may have found a way to forgive him, but he was mistaken. She had taken the lessons he'd secretly been trying to teach her and used them against him. He couldn't pretend to be shocked; the little wolf-bitch had made her opinion of him clear on more than one occasion. Still, he'd be lying to himself if he thought he wasn't hurt by her refusal to kill him.
Sandor chuckled quietly to himself as he felt sleep - or perhaps something more final - falling over him. She's tough, he thought, and smart. She'll be alright.
If I'd had a daughter, I'd've wanted her to be like Arya, was the last thought to run through his mind as his eyes closed.