Sansa ate half an apple moodily and passed it back to Sandor. He held the reins in one hand across her lap in order to take it, and kept it there as he crunched, loudly, in her ear. She felt like a fool. And as hopeless as a late summer flower - even as his armour dug into her slightly - with his arm tight against her waist like that. She wanted it to be with him. She did. She felt safer with him than with anyone.
She squeezed her eyes shut, looking forward to a change of scene – an inn, and a bed again, and stew, not dry meat and raw vegetables. She knew it was risky, with the chance that someone might recognise one of them, but there were many inns in Westeros and many people to fill them who would never have even heard of the Hound, or Sansa Stark, let alone know their faces. Perhaps Sandor would act differently with her if they had their own room. Or maybe he'd be worse, she thought huffily, and take a separate room, like a Knight of the damned Black Watch, and lie there thinking of her in the next one. She sighed dramatically, and heard him exhale the slightest gentle laugh at her, throwing the apple core into the grass.
Later in the day, there was a sound ahead that made Sansa's heart plunge. Sandor pulled on Stranger's reins to listen. It sounded like thousands of distant, furiously galloping hooves, many leagues away.
'What is that?' she asked, very quietly.
He didn't answer, still straining to hear, keenly. Maybe they had stumbled into the middle of the war. Then she thought that she heard him laugh, and he spurred Stranger on. She held onto the saddle, hoping that he wasn't leading them gleefully into a melée of spears and axes and bloodletting. They galloped down a slope, with a steep bank of tall, dark trees stretching far below them, and the sound became louder, bleeding into something more like the hiss of innumerable serpents. The path finally levelled, and he slowed them down. They came into a clearing, facing a large pool, and a waterfall, as high as one of the walls at Winterfell.
'You said you wanted a bath,' said Sandor.
'That is not a hot bath', said Sansa, gazing at it. It was beautiful, though, and deafening. He eased himself off Stranger and helped her down. She walked up to the edge of the pool, her boots smudging the dark, dense mud. The fall of the water was mesmerising. A snowfall, or a blur of doves' wings. Swirls of fine mist puffed into the air in front of it, catching in the light of the slim sunrays that filtered down through the trees.
'Might not be so cold.' There was a hint of a challenge in his voice as he joined her at the edge. She looked down at the water, a glinting black-blue, like the dragonglass blade that Maester Luwin had once shown her and Ayra. 'It'll get you clean, that's for sure.' He was grinning.
Then she'll show him, she thought. She fingered for the edge of the linen that bound her hand to her chest, and pulled it, carefully unwrapping the long strip from her back and shoulder, so that her arm was free, though her wrist still bandaged. It throbbed.
'Help me then.' She turned her back to him. He didn't move, startled. She looked at him over her shoulder. 'I'm not going in there in my dress.'
He looked caught in indecision for a moment, then shook his head slightly. 'It doesn't matter, I'm just teasing you.
'No,' she said, in charge now. 'You're right. I'm filthy. I just need help'.
He took a step towards her, took up the woollen strings at her shoulder blades and tugged at one of them, and then slowly unlaced it. Sansa stared out at the pool, feeling quite calm, his knuckles against her back. She felt the top of her dress around her ribcage loosen and took one shoulder of it, pulling it down under her bandaged arm to her waist. She felt round to the bottom of the bodice and made sure it was loose enough, and then as gracefully as she could, stepped out of the dress, standing in her boots and her smock. She shoved it unceremoniously at Sandor, not making eye contact. Finally, she sat down on a tree root, and picked at the laces of her boots, kicking them away, pulling her stockings off and removing her dagger strap.
She stood up again, and walked back to the side of the pool, where it was at its shallowest. Sandor was holding her dress and watching her, slightly agog. Sansa didn't look at him. She could see part of her white smock reflected in the water, a ghost under the surface. Taking a quick, deep breath in, she put her good hand to the back of her underdress, below her neck and pulled it up, over her head, the material brushing up over her thighs, and hips, and waist, and breasts. It floated off from the back of her head, and left her standing there, naked. She dropped it and stepped forward, into the water.