Mounted on Stranger, Sandor slowly made his way back through the village to the road leading to King's Landing. Another direction may have attracted unwanted curiosity. His horse tossed his head and snorted repeatedly, sensing his rider's tension, but still Sandor made him walk and then only allowed him to trot once they were clear of the huts.

Once he knew he was out of sight and that the road was still empty, Sandor dismounted Stranger and, taking the reins firmly, led him off the road into the brush. The horse was jittery now and he did not want him trying to fight him on uneven ground.

"I can't leave you behind too," he told him gruffly.

He would find a trail and mount up again to double back wide around Rosby and then head towards Duskendale and the coast as quickly as travelling paths and woods would allow. Just when he needed to travel quickly, he would have to lose time to avoid meeting other travelers or, worse, any soldiers. Once he reached a port, he would seek passage on a ship if it were not too late to escape unnoticed.

Thank the Mother, the idiotic man had said, smiling at him. He grit his teeth and twisted his lip bitterly.

Gentle Mother, font of mercy…

Fuck.

Fuck Tywin Lannister and the Imp and fuck Cersei and that craven little shit Joffrey. Fuck Stannis and his bloody Onion Knight. Fuck the little bird and fuck me too.

Sandor cursed and cursed. Cursed the little bird for not looking at him and for not coming with him. Cursed himself for not having bound and gagged her and taken her with him whether she wanted or not. She'd be Joffrey's now and…

Fuck.

She had better have burned the damned cloak. If she had been found to have known of his desertion, Joffrey would lay more accusations of treason against her and have her beaten bloody for it too; might be he'd have her head this time.

"Fuck," he raged.

It almost came out a ragged sob. He could only picture the little bird, pale and delicate in her soft silks, kneeling as Ilyn Payne, silent and grim and terrifying, stood over her and swung her father's greatsword to remove her lovely head. And the boy king looking on, enjoying her fear and her tears.

No, he realized with sudden relief; not with Jaime Lannister still held by the young wolf. Tywin Lannister would never permit it, would not allow Joffrey to risk the life of his only whole son. Lord Tywin may actually protect the little bird even better than the Imp had. She was his only hostage equal to the Kingslayer. Her life was safe. But his own head, Sandor knew, would be a very different matter entirely.

Lord Tywin had taken him in as squire for his house as a boy, raised him to his daughter's shield and from there he became Joffrey's shield and made Kingsguard, without needing the usually required knighthood. A man who would raze houses and ruin families for defiance would not let his own dog desert his king without wanting to make example of him. He could almost hear Rains of Castamere here in the silent woods.

Despite the still cool morning air and walking beneath the shade of trees, Sandor began to sweat under his armour and cloak. The old lion would put a price on his head, and it would needs be a large one to tempt lesser men to risk facing the fearsome Hound of Westeros. But Tywin Lannister shit gold, they said, and Sandor had seen the wealth of Casterly Rock as a young man. The promise of gold always made men think they were braver than they truly were. But Sandor knew it would not make them better fighters than him; more likely it would make them reckless as they came after his head. Sandor sneered vilely in contempt.

"Let them try," he rasped.

Stranger tossed his head again and Sandor stroked his neck to soothe him. "Easy now, we'll get where we're going, boy."

Where we're going: he didn't really know where they were going anymore. He'd hinted to the little bird that he'd be going North. He'd thought she'd be more like to leave with him if she believed he'd take her home to her family. But he'd only wanted to keep her with him, to keep her safe. He'd promised to keep her safe and to kill for her and she'd closed her eyes tightly and been scared of him, still. Would she be safer now?

Joffrey was still king. The little bird was still his betrothed and would be his queen, his wife. Lord Tywin could keep her from the executioner but he could not keep her from Joffrey's bed. She would never be safe again. She would never sing again. Sandor spat.

"Should have cut her fucking throat," he rasped bitterly.