When the little bird disappeared behind the she-wolf's horse, Sandor was certain she would go. She had to leave. There was no way he could protect her or take her home if he was dead. He only wished the wolf-girl had the courage to give him the mercy he'd begged for. It was cruel to deny a painless death the way she had. When the girl rode away and left the older sister, though, the air seemed to leave him. Abandoning the woman was even crueler.

The exhaustion he'd been keeping off took over and he let his eyes slide shut. An insistent patting to his unburned cheek woke him back up, though. His vision was hazy and for a moment he thought he was drowning in the river. He blinked in confusion, not knowing how he could still breathe. Opening his eyes again, his vision became clearer and he saw he was looking in Sansa's eyes.

"You called me your mistress," she stated. Sandor nodded, not understanding why she was talking about it now. "And you still think you're just a dog?" He nodded again. "Then you're my dog. As your mistress, I command you to live. I will not let you die."

Sandor was too weak to laugh and instead shivered. He felt the pressure of her hands rubbing at his arms, but no warmth came to him.

"Please." She was still speaking. "Don't leave me. Stay with me."

He swallowed and licked his lips. "Tired."

"Promise me you'll wake up." He looked away, knowing he could promise no such thing. "Promise me," she said again, giving his shoulders a shake.

This jostled the cuts at his neck and ribs, and he grimaced. No matter how he tried, no matter how much he hurt, the fever took him into a black oblivion.

He wasn't sure how long he slept, but he woke to her fingers stroking his hair as she sang. As a child, before Gregor ruined him, Sandor used to sit in the tiny sept at Clegane Keep and imagine the gods the septon worshipped. His favorites had been the Warrior, strong and brave, carrying a sword, and bestowing strength onto the worthy, and the Maiden, beautiful and kind, giving her love to the bravest of knights. He often wondered what the Maiden's voice would sound like when she sang.

Now he knew there were no gods, but the little bird's voice would still put the Maiden to shame.

He was gone again, before he ever opened his eyes.

The next time he woke was to shouting. He forced himself into consciousness, certain Sansa was in danger. Until he heard her words.

"You've taken everyone from me! You took my father, even though he confessed! You took Bran and Rickon, even though they were children! You took Robb, and my mother! You can't have him! You've taken everyone else! Please, please, leave him. He's mine! He's all I have. Please, don't take him!" Sandor's eyes weakly opened to the thinnest slits. A wash of red sat before his feet, facing a mass of black. For a moment, he thought she was addressing the Stranger. Then the horse neighed. "I hate you! I hate all you gods! You don't care about mercy and justice! You don't care about us at all! Why else would you take everyone from me? Why else would you want to take him?" He slipped into the black again, knowing there would be no answer.

When next he woke, there was more singing, but broken. Not the pretty chirps his little bird was so talented at. These were little more than ugly croaks. Had she left him? The time she had stayed was more than he ever deserved from her. She was the Maiden made flesh, deserved the Warrior himself. Sandor knew he should have done things differently, should have worshipped her. There were no gods, but there was her. Any man who held her would have held evidence of divinity. And he had squandered it.

He should have laid her before the heart tree in a godswood, shown her old gods this creature they'd created was the only one worth worshipping. He should have taken her on the seven altars in a sept, teaching her hymns with his fingers and mouth.

Instead, he had tried to push her away, to frighten her off like some rabid dog. Once he did have her, he thought to own her, to selfishly create his own cage for her.

And now she was gone, flown off and away, while some wandering crone sang over him.

Another new voice woke him next. A man's. And the little bird chirped her little courtesies in response. When had she returned? Why?

He only focused on the sound of her voice as the blackness surrounded him again.