Winter had left as slowly as it came that year, and the sun seemed to want to hide away just as much as the villagers pined to. The ground was muddy, still wet from the last snow of winter, and people were holed up in their cottages. The smell of burning wood was a comfort to most, but it set one man particular on edge.

Inside one of the more modest cottages, in the room furthest from the front door, was Sandor Clegane. He was sat up in the bed, his big hands folded onto his stomach as he rested. His eyes were closed and he breathed in deeply, the smell of fire still a paralyzing fear. Had it been him alone he might have slept in the front room, furthest away from the flickering fire, but the woman in the bed beside him promised she'd keep him safe. He sneered at her in the moment, but there he lay still beside her, close enough so that he could feel her steady, even breathing.

She looked more than comfortable, sprawled out like the flayed man on the Bolton's banners, the fur that covered them nearly up to her ears. She lay eerily still - had it not been for it's soft snoring Sandor might have thought her dead.

A muffled squeak came from another lump beneath the fur. Sandor's eye slid open as he waited for the lump to begin it's venture up to it's parents. Their little one knew it was morning and he done as he did every day since they'd rescued him. Sandor bit back a groan as he watched the lump travel up the bed, finally ending up between he and his woman. The little fox knew his mother was a deep sleeper and knew exactly the way to wake her.

It jumped up onto her stomach and began pawing vigorously, he didn't use enough force to scratch his mother, only to wake her.

"Get the fuck down," Sandor cursed quietly, his voice scratchy from disuse. "Leave her be."

The little red fox bore it's teeth at the man, just as it had done so many months ago, and turned ever so slightly toward the sleeping woman.

Sandor grunted and waved his massive hand toward it in a pitiful attempt to shoo it away. "Go on, ya cunt. You're going to wake her."

The fox's lips fell slowly and Sandor swore he saw the little fucker grin. With it's entire strength it pounced off of the woman's stomach and onto his own. The fox shot a sneaky look toward Sandor, and began turning round and round in a circle until it made a comfortable nest on his stomach.

"For fuck's sake," Sandor groaned, burying his face in his hands. He rubbed at his beard, it had grown longer since their arrival in the village, and sighed. The little fox pawed against his chest, rubbing it's head against him with a pleading look in it's eyes. It wanted a cuddle - same as every morning before.

Sandor obliged, only to keep the bastard happy, and let his eyes slide closed once more.

Only a little while later Sandor was awoken when a small weight pressed against his shoulder. He glanced over with bleary eyes and saw his woman looking at him with her gorgeous smile.

"Hm," she clucked in the back of he throat. She shivered at the slight draft in the room and cuddled deeper into the fur before giving Sandor a slight smile. "Good morning."

"Morning," Sandor almost snorted. He followed her gaze to the little fox on his stomach. "I tried to keep him away."

"S'alright," the woman said quietly. She reach down and gave the fox a gentle stroke on it's head. "He just wanted his Papa. Isn't that right, boy?"

Sandor watched the fox from the corner of his eye, his scarred lips pulling down slightly. He couldn't help the small pang of jealousy he felt watching her pet the small animal. "I'm going to make a hat out of it if it doesn't stop waking us up at the crack of morning."

"Oh come, Sandor," the woman chuckled. "You don't have the heart to and you know it."

Sandor grimaced, but didn't meet her eyes. "I'll go put some food on."

The woman chuckled and pressed a loving kiss to his scarred jaw. She gathered their little fox back into her arms and stroked his head as if he were their firstborn child. "Go on, Papa. We'll be waiting right here in the warm bed for your return."