His hands ran over her skin, the pads of his thumb worn and calloused. They felt rough, ragged when he dragged his forefinger down to the dip in her dress.
She shuddered, "Ser Sandor?" And he gave out an angry groan.
"I ain't no Ser, Little bird. Gods be good if you remember that," His voice was a snarl and he let out a dog-like Laugh when she pulled away.
He gazed down at her, eyes like ashen rain, before taking a lock of auburn hair, liquid fire, and rubbing it between two fingers.
He gave her a look, the kind of look she had only ever heard songs about, the kind of look to which only lovers exchange.
He lifted his head down, and she placed her lips against the hard sliver of scars. He reared his head back, and she gave him a small smile, as if she was a lamb coaxing a wolf as if in plea.
"Thank you, Sandor." She whispered, her voice carried away by the screams and cries of the battle. He gave her a sly glance, before pushing her back.
"Why'd you do that," He said gruffly, eyes flickerig suspiciously.
She gazed up at him, confused.
"I-I-I
She looked down to the floor.
"I don't know."
He shook his head, black tendrils of unruly hair scattering past his face, like a halo of darkness that shrouded his burns from light.
She was thankful for it, so she didn't have to look at his reaction, but at the same, she wished she could know whaf thoughts ran through his depraved mind.
She looked up again, the bristled black lashes fluttering, gracing her face with prims of blue, before she snapped them shut.
"Goodnight, sandor." She whispered, and backed away into the shadows.
He nodded slowly at her, and listened to the screams from the battle.
Green rise rising with a pungent smoke, shone menacingly from the window.
He peered out, casting the burning hell around him a dark glare.
"Yes, Good night indeed." He said harshly.
"Little bird."