The great dark beast was lying on the stable ground, his head thrown back and glassy eyes seemingly staring at a pile of hay but clearly seeing nothing. Before him, Sandor was crouched, one of his hands fumbling over the stallion's sturdy neck and the other flat on his flank. Sansa could see how tense he was, how hard that moment was for him.
After a couple of minutes of that, Sandor's shoulders dropped and he exhaled loudly, finally yielding to what Sansa had already guessed. "He's dead. I've lost his pulse altogether now," he announced, his voice raw and flat at once.
With gentle hands, he caressed the horse's sweaty coat for an instant but then abruptly stood up, keeping his face downcast and eyes on the deceased beast. Sansa had never seen her husband look so defeated and the sight filled her with sympathy and sadness.
"He had a full and long life," she told him, circling a delicate hand around his arm and leaning her head on his shoulder.
"I know. He was old. It's normal," Sandor replied, trying to sound nonchalant.
Sansa was not fooled. Her husband had loved his mount like a friend. In fact, the horse had been his only true friend for many years, his constant companion ever since his time in King's Landing as Joffrey's swornshield. When Sandor had rescued her from the Gates of the Moon all those years ago, Stranger had been with him and the beast had been just as responsible for the success of their escape as he had, for without his strength and speed, they would never have made it to Winterfell before the weather became too cold. Their first year in the North had been hard, yet for Sandor, it had been even worse. People had still viewed him as an enemy back then and while he was an independent man, Sansa knew his horse's company had helped him feel less lonely during the long moons it took for him to gain the complete trust of the Starks' closest bannermen and the castle's inhabitants.
In time, she had learned to appreciate Stranger too even though his temper was as fiery as his master's. Same as him, he didn't reveal his gentle side easily but once he had, there was no way not fall in love with him. And she had, with both of them. Over the years, Stranger had been a witness to their life as they slowly rebuilt her family castle, married and had children. It was sad to see him go not only because he was a brave and beloved creature but also for the page his disappearance turned in their lives. Although they were still healthy and vigorous, there was nevertheless no denying both Sansa and Sandor were getting older and that everything around them was changing faster than they'd have wished. Their brood were not babies anymore - far from it! - and the two oldest were even getting worryingly close to adulthood. Losing Stranger was yet another sign of the passing of time.
"He was a great horse," Sansa murmured, gently squeezing her husband's arm.
In her peripheral vision, she could see him nodding silently and when she turned to gaze at him directly, her heart ached even more at noticing the small drop that was shining at the corner of his eye.
"Oh, Sandor," she cried softly, raising a hand to his face and stroking the tear away with her thumb.
Sandor seemed slightly taken aback by the gesture and jerked his head away from her touch. "The air's dry. Too much hay in here," he rasped, looking away.
Leaning her head against his shoulder again and wrapping her arms around his broad torso, Sansa smiled indulgently to herself despite her melancholy. Even in loss and sorrow, men were never more than men. Yet Sansa loved her husband with each of his flaws and thus didn't force him to admit he was in truth crying the death of his best friend.