Chapter Text
Sansa wakes to a warm blanket over her naked body and the copper taste of old blood in her teeth.
Willas stands over the fire roasting the deer with the few apples he could coax out of the remains of the orchard (the gods laugh at us, to give such gifts now he said as the snow drifts buried the gardens).
Sansa tries not to wonder about the taste of lion's blood (mostly she wishes she could save them, motherfatherrobb- the gods laugh at her prayers to be silent and then give her /this/).