Chapter Fourteen: Onward

To say traveling by herself was easier was a lie. The instant they were far enough away from the Inn, Sansa realized she had to think all of this out by herself. Because Sandor would be able to track her, maybe not right away, but once Grey Wind turned back up, they could track her scent. So, just a few miles down the road, Sansa took Malia into the woods on the right, until she found a stream she could walk Malia in. They went down another three miles in the water, then got off at a shallow bank and started back into the Kingsroad.

For a short while, everything seemed to be going smoothly, but then something happened with Malia. At first, she thought it was just the amount of galloping they were doing at once, but Malia kept breathing heavier and heavier. Then she started to limp. Sansa stopped her immediately, concerned about the wound to her flank. It hadn't ripped open or started bleeding, but it was obvious that it bothered the poor mare. They stopped for a short while, giving Malia the chance to drink, graze and rest up. When they finally started again, Sansa made sure not to go faster than a trot with Malia. She made sure their path zigzagged, from which side of the road they were on, the length to which they stayed in the forest paths, and tried to make sure it wouldn't be easy to follow. Honestly, the more she thought about it, it was unlikely Sandor would really come looking for her.

After that, the rest of the day wasn't too terrible. Her and Malia managed quite a ways away from the Inn. She tried to ride through the night, but part way through, Sansa noticed she was nodding off too much to ride. Reluctantly, she stopped for the night. She tied Malia's reigns to a tree carefully, making sure the knot was tight enough so the mare couldn't wander off. Then she settled on the cold ground, pulled out her own dark cloak and wrapped it around herself. She refused to acknowledge the white cloak sitting in the bottom of her bag.

That first night was the worst. It was freezing and Sansa realized she should have waited for Grey Wind. Instead of waiting or running off in the middle of the night, she'd done everything in her power to make sure the Hound couldn't find her before he'd left. It was very likely the direwolf wouldn't be able to find her either. She craved to have the wolf beside her, to comfort her and give her that connection she had been missing for some time without her family. She started to regret her decision to leave so abruptly. And, as she lay against a tree, curled up on her left side to avoid her injury, she noticed her shoulder began to throb, mildly at first, but the pain began to magnify until she swore the throbs followed in time with her heartbeat. Still, she managed to doze off for a bit at least.

She rose with the sun that morning and worked to get Malia watered, grazed, and herself fed with what little bit of bread she had in her packs. Sandor usually carried most of the food on the warhorse since they usually rode together. She scarfed it all down and then got Malia ready for another ride. She kept Malia to the same trot pace, only stopping when she needed to relieve herself or Malia seemed to need a break. Her shoulder throbbed more noticeably, but she tried to ignore it. It had started to just ache dully, so she didn't bother checking it. She didn't have time to stop and wash herself, certainly didn't trust the stream to be clean enough to not get her wound infected.

She had to stop when it was turning into the evening. She needed to catch something for food. Her stomach growled and ached. She didn't know how to trap, hadn't seen any bushes with fruits or any farms, so she was forced to have to try to catch a fish. She let Malia graze without concern, rolled up her breeches so they didn't get soaked and waddled into the freezing stream. She kept her sword at the ready, reluctant to use her injured arm, but she didn't know whether or not she'd really be able to hit anything with her left arm.

It was hard work to try to hit a fish swimming nearby. It took her several, several attempts. She missed by inches, sometimes by much more. She stumbled several times, startling the rest of the fish away from her. She cursed, her arm burned with the effort, but eventually she managed to hit one fish. She called it quits for the night, figuring it was better than nothing. Then she was set to the task of starting a fire by herself.

She didn't have the flint she used from Sandor's things previously, so she had to figure out the best way to start the fire without it. Her Father had taught her how to at one point, telling her it could be helpful if for some reason she ever ended up on her own. She'd huffed and argued that she'd never be without her prince (how childish and naïve!), but Ned hadn't let up until she could start her own fire. She pretended to be just as disappointed, but inside, she remembered the small thrill at being able to start the fire herself.

For the life of herself, she couldn't remember exactly how her father started the pile of wood. So, she started with a large pile of logs and twigs. She scrounged around on the ground, until she found the rock her father told her could produce sparks to start the fire. The first several tries, she couldn't get any sparks to appear. Then, when she finally managed the sparks, it was impossible to keep the fire from smoking out. She tried recalling just how Father had started the pile, decided to pull out the larger pieces and focused on a small pile of leaves and twigs. She did remember that he'd told her to feed the fire, work up to the larger logs once she had a good fire going. So she did just that. Soon enough, she had a good fire started. Impressed with herself, she settled back and started prepping her fish while she warmed up herself. She scraped off the scales and cut off the head and tail. She put a spit through the middle of the fish, settled it in the flames so it would cook through quicker. She finished up the last of the bread she had while she waited for the fish.

Her belly felt full enough once she finished eating for the night. She felt woozy, more tired than the night before, so it didn't take her long to settle out on the ground and close her eyes.

She didn't wake up like she had the morning before. She woke up, her head fuzzy, feeling groggy and congested and almost like she was out of her body. But what shocked her most was that the sun had risen high in the sky, nearing midmorning already. Immediately, she tried to get to her feet to start out. But as soon as she moved, everything in her vision began to spin and she felt a massive wave of nausea. She collapsed back to the ground, eyes squeezed shut. Her shoulder throbbed, radiating from her joint to the tips of her fingers.

She forced herself off of the ground, so that she was collapsed against a tree trunk. She knew, just knew it was her shoulder. She hadn't taken care of it properly since Sandor had stitched her up. She hadn't cleaned it, hadn't changed the wrapping unless he forced her to, and hadn't even bothered paying attention to the fact it hadn't been healing properly. She couldn't smell anything, but that didn't mean rot hadn't started… A glance to her tunic told her the wound was definitely bleeding. She fairly ripped the tunic to take a look at her shoulder, grateful she'd borrowed this one while her dresses dried. The stitches Sandor had placed fairly ripped through her skin, leaving the gash open and weeping blood and a greenish substance.

It had gotten infected. One way or another, whatever the reason or lack of responsibility on her part, Sansa's shoulder was infected. She was out here, on her own, with an infection that could quickly spread to rot. She fairly sobbed, distressed and knowing she was in trouble. But she had to stay strong. She needed to clean her wound.

Her first attempt to touch her wound, to press part of her tunic against it to stanch the bleeding, almost made her passed out then. She couldn't stand to take care of it and no one else could get to the river to boil some water. But she had to try. So, she pressed against the tree and used it to help her to her feet shakily. She took a step away from the tree, using her left hand to keep her steady. A second, a third step, and it looked as if she could possibly make it.

By the tenth step, however, she stumbled and fell to the ground, panting with the effort. She let herself fall over onto her left side and closed her eyes. She could just rest for a moment…

For quite some time, she felt as if she was dreaming. But there was something off. It was like she was floating, up and out of the trees, across lands and seas and rivers and fires. Then she began to crash down like a bird diving for prey. Except, she noticed she was aiming straight for a silvery grey creature below. She met the animal on the ground; everything went black, just for an instant. Then she opened her eyes. Everything around her settled in a haze of color, but when she looked down, she was startled to find the sight of paws where her feet should have been. She was to her feet, as if she wanted to get away from the sight in front of her. "Summer, what is it?"

Her head snapped up, not because of what they called her, but because she recognized the voice. She whined, almost out of instinct, seeing the sight of Bran Stark in front of her, settled down on an icy ground with a fire in front of him. "Summer?" he asked again, but she didn't make another sound, just loped over to him and nuzzled her, Summer's, head against his hand. For a moment, Bran rubbed her ear, but then he pulled his hand away and he looked, really looked at Summer. "You have blue eyes…" he murmured, brows furrowed. Could he see she was here, in the wolf?

Bran laid his hand to Summer's flank, but instead of petting the direwolf like Sansa expected, she felt the sudden presence, another, pressing to her, shoving her out of the direwolf. She shot back out to the sky, so sudden and startling she sort of floated there for just a moment. It was as if she could see above all of Westeros, could witness what was going on. But she could truly only see five places in the entire kingdom. She ached to reach out to them, could almost feel the presence of each direwolf as they ran and slept.

But something else tugged her away, from Westeros and those she knew were her family below. It pulled, faster and faster, stretching her and yanking until she was in a place she had never seen before. And, as she began to fall to the earth once more, she noticed men and women and children and a city of red, so much red. It was there, she was pulled, to a creature she had only read in books. But, she is unable to think about it before she is sucked in.

Again, the creature blinked and she saw through him. This time, Sansa felt the change, the creature so different from her Lady or Summer or Grey Wind. This one is cool, scaled, and with different view of the world. He is perched beside a lady, with violet eyes and silvery blonde hair. The meat, which the creature had opened his mouth to eat, lay in this woman's hand. Sansa hesitated, halting the creature's movements. The woman cocked her head to the side, asked, "Drogon?"

"Is something the matter, Khaleesi?" Sansa heard someone ask in the background. She tipped her head towards the woman, one of dark skin and dark hair and in a dark outfit Sansa is not familiar with.

But then he blinked and Sansa was gone again.

She tried thinking of Sandor, of Stranger, where they could possibly be. But it isn't until her thoughts went to Grey Wind that she is able to start moving, faster and faster, back to Westeros. She noticed the smoke grey fur that is Grey Wind and goes right for him, possibly even faster than before. Again, he blinked and she is there, viewing through his eyes the forest beside him. She stops running, winds the air. Immediately, she caught scent of horse and man and turns around. Stranger is there and Sandor, atop the horse.

The Hound is watching the wolf, glaring at the creature. From her view below, he looks far less menacing than he did when she looked at him from her perspective. "The matter now?" he growled. "Did you lose her scent again?" A relief so unlike what she is used to washed over her presence and through Grey Wind. Immediately, the body of the wolf calmed. She can smell the emotion rolling off of the Hound, fear and anticipation and anxiety.

Overwhelmed, she wanted to go to Sandor immediately, but instead, she forced her nose to the ground, back to the scent of another horse and faintly another man. But the smell is different, dulled and more flowery. It had to be her scent, it had a different smell to man. It's strong, so she led them forward, running faster and faster, noticing the stronger the smell gets. Sandor must have lost sight of Grey Wind, for Sansa can hear him cursing after the wolf.

She doesn't pause, Sansa began to run. She jumped over logs, remembering the path she had taken. The feeling of running with the wolf, free and with agility she never had as a human was so exhilarating she almost didn't stop when she caught sight of the mare.

But she remembered why she was running, straight to this clearing. She walked over, panting, as she passed the burnt out fire and ignored the mare who danced out of her way, whinnying. And, as Grey Wind loped over to her, pausing, she was shocked to stare down at her own figure, the part of her face she can see is ashen and covered in mud. Immediately, she looked over the rest of herself. She looked at her hair, the locks streaked in dark and auburn, looking a mess. She can see herself mumbling, nonsense that she can't hear. So, she lowered the wolf's head closer, but before she can make out a word, she noticed the one eye of hers is open and completely white.

She is so startled by that, it pushed her right out of Grey Wind and back into the darkness.

Immediately, she felt a settling, like a weight in her body to tell her she is home. She managed to crack open her eyes and she is greeted by the sight of yellow eyes and a wet nose pressing into her face. She can hear as Sandor crashes through the trees, falling suddenly silent as Stranger stopped. Then he is cursing, getting down from the horse, and running right to her. His hands are on her, lifting her so she is on her back in the grass. The pain is so excruciating, it immediately opens her eyes and she is greeted by the furious sight of the man in front of her.

"Sandor," she breathed, almost reaching out to touch him.

Instead of snapping or snarling, he tugged down the ripped part of her tunic and cursed as he looked at the wound. He got off the ground, went to Stranger, and pulled out a flask she knew had wine in it. He didn't seem deterred that her fire had already burned down. She watched as he quickly gathered up more twigs and logs and used his flint to start it back up again. Her eyes closed, exhausted. "Don't you dare go back to sleep, Little bird," he growled. Reluctant, she opened her eyes and looked back over at him. He had the wine on to boil already. She noticed he was holding something into the flames, but it wasn't until he'd straightened and turned back to her that she saw what it was. She whimpered, knowing exactly what he was going to do with the dagger. The metal was glowing red and orange. He was planning to put that blade into her shoulder, to burn out the infection and then clean it out with the wine.

Still, as he came back to her and knelt above her, she just squeezed her eyes shut and let him do what he needed to. The initial cut hurt the worse, the blood and open flesh sizzling as the metal made contact. She whined in pain, trying not to scream and clenched together her fists. His fingers prodded open her wound, as he cut deeper and wider, trying to make sure to clean everything out. It was unlike anything Sansa had felt before. She began to scream, almost jerked away from him, but Sandor gruffly told her, "Hold still," and pressed his large hand across her left shoulder to keep her grounded.

She could feel each slice of the blade, as it cut into her flesh and slowly began to cool. She knew immediately when he accidentally cut down too far and he'd hit her bone. The pain was so bad she could no longer scream. She felt each swipe of the blade, as he cleaned out the infection and any possibly infected tissue. He wiped down the blade after each time, being thorough. She wished she would pass out already, but for some reason, she couldn't seem to go to sleep. Then he stood up. She almost sighed in relief, until she realized he was walking back over for the wine. She sobbed, knowing the wine would just hurt more than ever before.

Sandor surprised her by pressing a bottle to her lips and telling her to drink. She could tell it was the Milk of the Poppy the moment she started drinking the liquid. Things began to go fuzzy and she almost dozed off, but the burn of the wine kept her awake. She couldn't scream, but her eyes were open and wide with the pain. For once, Sandor looked at her, at the girl in front of her, and told her, "I know it burns. Just bear with me a few more minutes, Little bird." His voice was gentle, sounding kind, and she knew he was pulling from his experience with his own burns.

When Sandor tipped her to the right, draining the scalding liquid, her whole right side was fairly numb. She hardly felt when he began stitching her up all over again and watched him as he worked. Still, she eventually managed out, "Why did you come for me?"

He cursed, stopping long enough to glare at her and snarled, "Why the fuck did you up and leave?! That was the dumbest decision you could have ever-"

"Y-you wanted me gone. You wanted to get rid of the stupid girl, remember?"

He cursed again, pressing the needle into her shoulder a little rougher than necessary. "I was fucking piss-ass drunk, Little Bird. I hardly remember a thing from dinner, much less the rest of whatever else I fucking said. Bloody hells, you should know I'm not just going to up and leave you wherever the fuck seems best by now."

"You had everything packed up. You told me you would take me to my aunt. W-we k…" The words died on her lips, the tears started to form in her eyes again. He finally tied off her stitches, so she was able to sit up, woozy, but for the most part stable.

"I woke up passed out on the floor," he growled, rubbing at his face and looking irritated all over again. "Don't ever fucking just up and leave girl. I brought you to this damn country, from the cage. I couldn't get you to your family fast enough, I sure as hell won't let you wander off by yourself."

She leaned forward and rested her head against his shoulder. Immediately, she felt him tense, but she didn't pull away. She just closed her eyes and murmured, "I never want to be away from you."

"You're going to have to go home, back to Winterfell."

"I won't without you." She tipped her head up, looking at him through her lashes. "My family is dead, my home has been sacked. All I have left is a brother in the North at the Wall, who cannot help me win back my lands. It's only you and I now. And if you plan to go to the free cities still, I'll come with you. You're who I trust now."

"Don't trust anyone, Little Bird," he told her hoarsely.

"I'll only trust you." He didn't say anything to that and she decided not to either. Eventually he got her up enough where he could get her laid out on the sleeping mat they had. He dug through her bag and pulled out the ever present white cloak she used as a blanket and tucked it in around her.

"Go to sleep, Little Bird, we'll talk about this more once you're healed up," he told her. Sansa nodded once, closed her eyes and let the darkness take back over again.

~A/N~

Glad that there's still people reading this fic! It's been slower than I'd like, but I'm finally getting to the new plot of the story I'm super psyched for the next following chapters. Fifteen is on its way to being complete it's just been a bit of a slower update. thank you again for all of the reviews!

R&R

XmX