Warning: there are a few mentions of gore and the common ways Lakota made war. Additionally, Sandor and the white men make racially and religiously offensive comments. I have put an asterisk (*) next to the paragraphs so you can avoid it and still enjoy the fic.

More wolves added their voices to the already steadily climbing chorus as Sandor made his final preparations. Uneasily he glanced toward the pass above them. What is waiting to meet us up there? Drawing a deep breath, Sandor tightened his war lance against his chest.

Gun In The Water leapt onto his horse. "I will go too."

Sandor nodded at the man.

"My son, one man cannot tell another what to do but I am your father and your chief; you will hear my words and obey. Take your brother with you," Standing Bear commanded just as Sandor was about to mount his horse. "I will guard your wife."

"You honor me, father." Immediately Sandor assented, holding the reins of the ghost bridle lankly as he stared at his wife. She was blinking back tears. Sansa looked up at him, pleading for him to agree with her eyes as she patted his horse's flank. *Han nickered softly at her, tossing his head in response, the animal eager to go. A sinking feeling welled in his stomach.

The chief turned to Sansa. "Come daughter. I will keep you safe."

"Yes, Father," he watched Sansa bow meekly and move to his father's side. "I am honored to come under your protection, but please, permit me to say goodbye to my husband."

Stiffly Standing Bear agreed, waving his hand at her. "Go then."

Much to Sandor's surprise, Sansa turned and ran back toward him, leapt into his arms and kissed him fully on the mouth in front of the tribe. A sharp pang of lush coursed through him, and for a moment, Sandor lost himself in her. His desire for Sansa had been at a fever pitch ever since he returned to the tribe, and he had given in to his lust so often that Sandor was beginning to feel guilty for his excess. But his wife seemed to share his passions but none of his hesitancy, and so he had given free rein to satisfying them both.

The women around them giggled and murmured softly to themselves. The corner of Standing Bear's mouth twitched slightly; Sandor recalled that Sansa's farewell was very similar to the way his own mother behaved, the realization sending pangs of heartache through the man.

Clearing his throat, he gently set her back on her feet, a smile playing on his mouth as he did so.

His father walked toward her.

"Come home to me, my other skin." Sansa called to him as Standing Bear escorted her to his tipi. His wives hugged her close and smoothed her hair, comforting her.

"Healing Needle, you come too," Standing Bear barked at Margaery. Confused, Margaery glanced between Sandor and Bronn before she moved into the tipi.

After climbing on his horse, Sandor's eyes followed Sansa until she disappeared behind the flap. Her people were protecting her, and Sandor was determined to find out what was threatening her.

Wolf tracks divoted a huge swath of the snowy landscape, leaving a wide path of tracks for them to follow.

Lady burst through the bushes, startling the men. She danced around Sandor while alternating yipping and howling at him. Many voices answered her calls in the distance.

"This is a huge pack, wolf sister," Sandor scratched her ears and then knelt to examine the deep paw prints. "Must be forty strong and well fed, too. You have done well in bringing them to us. Who is threatening Red Wolf? Show me."

Suddenly she raised her huge head, sniffed the air and then darted off.

"There," Black Elk pointed in the wolf's direction toward a group of four well-dressed white men on horseback slowly traversing the mouth of the rocking path into the Black Hills. The whites were travelling slow, led by a mountain man with a pack mule loaded down with buffalo meat.

They watched disdainfully as a blonde woman awkwardly tried to navigate her inexperienced mount up the path, the animal stoutly refusing to follow the others. She kicked it in the flanks and beat it with a whip several times but to no avail. Crouching in the tall snow, Lady poised herself to attack.

"Why do whites beat their animals for their own failures?" Bronn hissed, shaking his head. "Even their women do it."

Sandor had often wondered the same thing. Whites didn't seem to understand that the animals knew what they did not and did not seem willing to be taught by them, either. It was strange to Sandor and Bronn alike, for their father had taught them to watch their horses' behavior for clues about the weather and the vicinity of animals and invaders alike.

"It is disgraceful, brother, and it speaks to their own ignorance." He pointed toward Lady. "Likely the white woman's horse smells the wolves and perhaps us as well. Her horse was trying to save the group and the fools didn't even recognize it, didn't even consider the animal had a very good reason for its apparent disobedience."

"We should take that horse for ourselves," Bronn added angrily. "It is a fine animal who only wants an understanding rider. She is beautiful as well. I could train her for Healing Needle."

"A fine gift." Black Elk agreed.

Gun-In-The-Water shook his head. "They are probably lost. We usually do not see anyone here in winter."

"They are not lost." Sandor answered gravely. He had seen such men before. Bounty hunters, his mother had called them, men who were paid to find whites among the tribal peoples and return them to their families. It was a despicable profession both in the eyes of the people and the whites alike.

Sandor's father had never let one such man escape him and neither had he; but something in their demeanor raised his curiosity. This particular group seemed very well off, judging by the fine workmanship of their saddles and weapons. But who sent them?

The calling of wolves surrounded them. His mouth stretched taut at the site of the group moving ever closer toward the trail leading to his wife.

"Your wife's family led us to them for a reason. They mean her harm, of that I am certain." Black Elk commented while nervously watching Sandor grit his teeth in rage. The rest of the group remained silent, waiting for Sandor's orders.

Squinting, Sandor recognized the familiar, hated white and black clothing of a white holy man. "You are right. But why is that couple with them?"

"What do you mean?"

"I have not seen a woman travelling with such men before."

"Maybe she is their bed slave." Gun In The Water suggested.

"No, she is what my mother would call a 'lady'," Bronn shook his head. "You can tell by how awkwardly she rides. That means she is a respectable woman, a wife and mother."

"What does her bad riding have to do with being respectable?"

"Whites don't think honorable women ride straddling a horse," Bronn explained. "They are oddly preoccupied with keeping their legs together, Mother told me. Remember how Red Wolf was riding sideways?"

Gun In The Water nodded understandingly. "We thought it odd but did not know the reason she rode in such a manner."

"I thought she just didn't know how." Black Elk added.

"No, she was taught that way so she would be viewed as honorable by her people."

"She does not do so anymore," Sandor growled low. "I would not allow her to engage in such dangerous behavior."

"It is a miracle they do not break their necks doing so." Black Elk sniffed derisively. "Their men are very foolish if they would rather risk their women falling and breaking a bone rather than ride astride a horse. Whites are so hard to understand."

"Very true." Bronn concurred.

"I believe you are right about them, brother," Sandor distractedly gestured toward them after watching the couple for several minutes. "That one teaches the black book of the whites. He is their holy man. He is wearing the necklace of the Christ god. She must be his wife, for they always come as a couple to the plains."

"The ones who scare Little Bird about the hot place, brother? The ones who would not accept her back among them?" Bronn had taken to calling Sansa 'Little Bird' as a term of brotherly affection, which Sandor appreciated; now however, the sound of the pet name brought a fresh wave of anger to him.

"Yes." Sandor spat out.

The white collared man of the black book turned and spoke to the woman. Briefly Sandor wondered why the white holy man hadn't provided her with a more trustworthy mount if she was truly his wife.

"Let me put some arrows in him." Bronn interrupted his thoughts by turning his horse to face his brother.

"He might have medicine. I have heard other tribes say the black book gives them power." Gun In The Water interjected. "We should watch him for a bit."

"If he has medicine then the arrows will not kill him," Bronn reasoned. "If he does not, then he will die."

"Go then," Sandor decided. "Shoot the holy man with arrows, brother. We will finish the rest of the men and take their scalps. Leave the woman alive."

Three of the men were mortally wounded before they even realized Sandor and his men were bearing down on them. He was glad they were slow in dying, for he had many questions. The mountain man who served as their guide made a brief fight, which abruptly ended with the expertly thrown war lance of Black Elk.

The white men's first words to them confirmed that Sandor had been right about the identity of the men.

*"You red sons of bitches overtook us fast." The man laughed ruefully. "Twenty years of bounty hunting and we get taken by a bunch of savages-well fuck me sideways. I guess we had it coming."

Sandor and Bronn exchanged glances.

"We are looking for an English girl with red hair." The man with an expensive rifle said in English to no one in particular. Sandor figured he spoke purely out of nervous fear and decided he would pretend to ignore him. He would let him think he could not understand him in hopes the man would speak freely.

"Some rich hoity toity blonde shit back east paid us to find her and bring proof she was dead or captive, one."

Fury swept over Sandor until his heartbeat thundered in his ears. He gripped his war lance so tightly that his knuckles grew white. Bronn and Black Elk fearfully backed away from him.

Behind them, Gun In The Water wrestled the feisty woman off of her horse all the while she screamed at the top of her voice.

The bounty hunter looked out around Sandor fearfully. "What you gonna do with her?"

"What is he saying?" Black Elk asked.

"He says they are looking for an English girl with red hair. A yellow haired rich man paid them to prove she was killed or else ruined by savages. He wants to know what we will do with their woman."

"A man sent them after an English woman with red hair? He speaks of Red Wolf. You should kill him, Three Hounds."

"I will. They will die very soon but I want to hear if he will say more." Sandor sniffed and glared at the men.

Gun In The Water looked over the frightened woman. "She is pretty," the warrior commented. "I like her pale skin and black hair. I want to take her."

The white men fidgeted, becoming obviously nervous as they sat listening to them speaking in Lakota. One tried in vain to reach a gun sticking out of his boot.

*Red Wolf says whites imagine the tortures we will put them through and will seek a way to kill themselves if they can," Sandor rubbed his chin. "They are the worst cowards. These men are imagining such things-just look at their fear."

Gun In The Water spat in disgust. "What of the woman? Can I have her?"

*Alright," Sandor's eyes fell to the woman shrieking out her prayers to her god while they spoke. "But do not outrage her. Leave it to father what should be done with her."

"Yes, Three Hounds." He then knelt and began binding her hands and feet. The woman landed a sharp kick to his chest, causing the warrior to stumble backwards.

Sandor, Bronn and Black Elk laughed.

"His friends think it's funny," the one white man said to the other two. "Maybe they'll take us to the girl."

"Not likely that I would bring you back to my woman," Sandor answered in Lakota and looked over toward his brother. "Or allow you to survive us. You will die right where you sit after I am through listening to your words."

After rubbing his ribs, Gun In The Water resumed tying her to his horse.

"Do not hit her." Sandor ordered sharply.

"I won't hit her," Gun In The Water grinned. "She is spirited like a young horse let out to graze. I like it."

Tersely Sandor sat down beside the white men.

Bronn watched Sandor's behavior and soon caught on to the pretense.

"We have money if that's what you're after-" The man whimpered. "We was well paid."

Sandor shook his head and looked at Bronn.

"My brother say your woman come with us." Bronn knelt before him. "Is she you squaw?"

Sandor swallowed hard at the loathsome word.

All three white men exchanged surprised looks and then laughed.

"Don't you boys say nothin'!" The woman shouted at them while wriggling against her captor.

"She ain't my woman, no." The older man snorted loudly. "She was just some repentant pianer' playin' whore from Ogallala that the preacher thought he could save from hell. They was just travellin' with us to get through the country without running into you bastards."

"I ain't a whore!" She yelled out and then began to cry. "I left all that behind me."

His body riddled with arrows, the holy man blankly stared into Sandor's face. "She is a god fearing woman. May God have mercy on your soul."

With great difficulty, Sandor ignored the man. "So she is a bed slave, not his wife." He commented in Lakota with stilling the furious expression threatening his face. "She has suffered a great deal, I am sure. That is why she screams."

Gun In The Water looked her over again. "I do not care. Whites are often cruel to their women. I could be good to her."

"He want her. We take her." Bronn feigned in imitation of the way the buffalo hunters had mocked them.

"He brought her with us so she could start a new life." The other badly wounded man shrugged.

He was dying slowly but Sandor was in no mood to show mercy toward the men who would have stolen Sansa from him. "Won't no one think her respectable anyhow. Do with her whatever you like but let us go on our way."

Sandor waved Gun In The Water to take her back to camp. Her screams soon faded into the canyon. Without a word, Sandor then moved behind the white bounty hunters, shouted out his war cry, and then slit their throats.

*Bronn moved in afterward to take their scalps while Sandor watched the blood drain into the snow.

The wolves howled out their chorus above them. His brother looked at him questioningly.

"For Little Bird, Sandor," Bronn quietly explained in Lakota.

Sandor assented.

"She can see and know we protected her." Bronn went on. "I will leave the mountain man to the wolves. Who is the man who sent them?"

"The blonde man who sent them was meant to be her husband but she never loved him." Sandor did not know why he was telling Bronn this but it felt good to let it out. "His name was Joffrey. She did not want him. Her parents made her be with him."

*Bronn shook his head in disgust. "I am glad she has found happiness with you, brother," he said as he scalped the first man. "She is a good woman who deserves better."

"Lord, forgive them for they know not what they do," the holy man rasped out, interrupting them.

*"I know exactly what I am doing," Sandor answered in English while Bronn took the second man's scalp. Kneeling, he stared hard into the frightened man's eyes. "Hear my words: I am protecting my people. I am showing your god that I do not fear his burning place or the words in your black book."

*"Red godless devils-"

"You hate us because our skin is dark," Sandor growled out, shaking in rage as he did so. "You hate your own when they marry us. You steal our people from us and then tell them they will burn forever but it is a lie. Wakan Tanka is stronger than your Christ god."

* Gasping, the man struggled to reply. Bloody bubbles spilled out of his lips as he tried to speak and after taking a long breath, the man died.

"I am glad his death was slow," Sandor spat on his lifeless body. "His burning place has frightened my wife since she was a little girl."

"How can they burden their children with such things, even if they believe they are true?"

"I do not know," Sandor answered. "I will ask Sansa."

Lady came in amongst them and sniffed each body carefully before raising her voice in wolf song.

"You are welcome, Sister," Sandor scratched under her chin. "Now you feast on your sister's enemies."

Black Elk dumped out the white men's packs and began rifling through them. "More tracks for you and Red Wolf to read, Three Hounds." He tossed two books at Sandor's feet.

Sandor sneered at the black book with the cross on the cover and tossed it to the side. Bronn handed him another. "Look at this, brother."

"Le Morte De Arthur," Sandor sounded out the words with great difficulty in English. "This is not English." Somewhere in the back of his mind, the tracks were familiar to him. "It is French, I think."

Puzzled, Bronn frowned. "What is French?"

"Mother spoke it," Sandor explained. "She could read its tracks, too. She went to a place to learn as a girl but I forgot what she called it. Father brought her a book full of tracks made like this and she would read them."

"But what is it, exactly?"

"It is a language of a people who are neighbors to England-like the Cheyenne are to us." He opened the book and paged through its contents.

"Do they make war on the English?"

"Sometimes." Sandor answered. "The rest of the tracks are English inside."

"What does it mean, that whites would name a book in one language and yet fill the inside with tracks of a different language?" Bronn chewed his lip thoughtfully. "It is strong medicine, I think."

"I do not know," Sandor smoothed his hand over an illustration of a man wearing a great metal suit. "But I will take this to Red Wolf. She will tell us what it means."

With that they packed up the white's belongings, mounted their horses and headed home.

Notes

*Han is the Lakota spirit of darkness, as close as a counterpart to the Stranger as I could get in the traditional religion.

It was a common tradition for the women of the tribe to comfort the wife of the warrior leading the party since many men never made it back.

Even though Sandor is a grown man with a wife of his own, Lakota culture dictated that he would naturally defer to his father.

It is interesting to note that indigenous people often come up with their own reasons for why white people behaved in certain ways much in the same way the whites did to them. The very idea of risking the life and safety of your wife or woman was absurdly irresponsible to them.