The hound rode his horse like he was charging through hell. Hooves thundering, black eyes flashing, teeth bared in anger as though willing to smash through any obstacle that blocked the huge war-horses path.
Sansa was afraid. A part of her was exhilarated, feeling the wind rush through her hair, shocking her to the core, startling her entire system. She felt like she would fall had she not held onto Sandor with all her living soul.
So this is living, Sansa mused. The leaves they flew past were rusty-red, like there was iron in the air turning them the same shade of auburn as her hair. The rain from last night had never ceased, but there was supposedly an inn nearby. It would've taken them half a days ride at the most, but Sandor's horse, stranger, had the speed of a thousand storms. And though Sansa had protested she wasn't getting sick, she was stronger than she looked, Sandor rebuked her protests. He urged his horse to go faster.
When they eventually came to the crossroads, and the rickety old signpost with carvings of runes, and the stained writing, they paused.
Sansa said nothing, still breathless from the ride. The raindrops falling, she opened her mouth and caught them on her tongue. It did little to quench her thirst. She felt heady after riding for such a long while.
Dawn had broken away. It was nearly dusk. They'd rode all day, hardly stopping for rest spare a piss in the woods, or a chance to fill sandor's wineskin with water.
"Sandor?" She said, if only to break the silence. Her answer was a grunt. She shielded her eyes from the weak, watery sun. It barely grew gold, simply stayed limp. "When will we reach the inn?"
"Soon." He said, coldly.
He was still irked. He was always irked. His head was too heavy a burden for his shoulders, no matter how strong he was. Sansa fretted over him. Too often she stressed out her weary mind with thoughts of the future, of what would happen to her hound. "Sandor-"
"What?" He snapped, jerking his head to face her. Stranger snorted through his nose. "Quit yer buggering cheeping." He spat, as though she'd said something unkind.
Sansa said nothing, opened her mouth and closed it, swallowed down the prickle of pain his irritation with her had caused.
He took her silence as obedience and grunted, turning back to the road. "Good."
Sansa glared at the back of his head. "Put me down." She snapped, wrenching her hands from his muscled back. He ignored her.
Sansa strode down from the cantering horse and nearly fell. "Stupid girl." He barked, stopping his horse from going any further.
She's scraped her knee, fought to get to her feet before he laughed at her foolishness of jumping down from a tall, fast horse like stranger.
"You hurt yourself?" He asked, frown softening. She stormed forwards, faster than him, head held high in the air. She had the pouch of gold and jewels, he didn't. If he's going to be so cruel, I might as well walk without him. She thought, resolutely.
Sandor saw her storming ahead, hips swaying angrily, slippered feet slapping the ground, chin tilted in defiance, hands curled into fists as though she wanted to punch him.
So much for wanting my cock, Sandor mused, with a crude inward laugh. He raised one black brow, and ran a hand through his hair. Raindrops dribbled down the back of his neck. Stranger whickered, blowing globs of spit through his blunt yellow teeth.
Sansa refused to turn back. Sensing Sandor was behind her, she grew faster. She saw a building in the far distance, a good mile away. She squinted, peering at it closely. It was the Inn at the end of the dirty old road and, with a triumphant grin, she turned back to toss her head at him arrogantly. I'll show him.
But he wasn't there. He was on the horse, ready to charge on ahead with a nasty, cruel smile plastered over his mouth. "Enjoy your walk, little bird?"
A stone had cut through the sole of her slippers. She glared at him, blue eyes and red cheeks, freckles forming over her snub nose. "Fuck you." She said, before she could silence herself.
Sandor was taken aback, startled his little bird would dare swear at him. He blinked, swallowed and then smiled. "Is that a request, Sansa?"
She let out an angry, frustrated groan and folded her arms over her chest. He kept his horse trotting beside her, despite stranger itching for a run. Sansa stepped over the muddy ground. It squished between her dainty slippers and she grimaced, her lower lip poured and petulant, for her father had bought her those slippers. They're ruined, she complained to that empty space in her mind. She didn't want to burden Sandor with her complaints. He had enough on his hands, what with 'abducting' the heir of house stark.
Sandor sighed heavily and, holding his reins with one hand, he leaned down and grabbed Sansa around the waist with his other spare hand. He hauled her bodily atop the horse, in front of him. She protested, moving indignantly infront of him, but he laughed. Laughed, in her face.
Sansa was outraged. Her whole face went beetroot red. Even the tips of her ears became tinged with pink. As she struggled to move away from him, stating his armour was too cold against her back, she halted. His hand gripped her hip, forcing her down atop the saddle. His mouth was at the nape of her neck. "Shut up." He growled, against her skin. His words arose goosebumps.
"What if I don't want to?" Sansa said, breath catching in her throat. And, because no one was around, he reached up to palm her breast roughly with his hand. "I'll make you shut up."