The dusting of Summer snow that had fallen overnight has melted away but the grass is still damp despite the midday sun. Sansa's feet are cold and the hem of her skirt is dark with wet as she carries her woven basket of herbs and berries back home. She ventures further from the cottage than she ever did now, though she still wears her hood up over her darkened hair. Sandor agreed that it was safe provided she went further into the woods and never towards the road. There she found she could collect stinging nettles and willow bark, pick blackberries and tiny wild strawberries; and she is delighted to have discovered a patch of chamomile for tea and wild thyme for their cooking pot.

She is close enough now to see the morning's washing flapping in the breeze on the hempen line that runs between two posts, and to hear the squabbling cacophony that means that Ivy is feeding the chickens. When she walks out of the trees and into the clearing, she is surprised as always to see how their little world has grown since they first arrived at the hunting cottage.

Lord Jon has kept his father's promise and continues to send regular shipments of goods to the wildlings. Tormund then sends supplies to Sansa at the cottage when he distributes shares among villages and crofts in the Gift; and the young wildling men who bring them sacks of barley and dried pease and oats for the horses always stay to assist with any heavy labour. They helped Sandor to chop down trees and build a cabin for himself so that he no longer needed to sleep in the stable. They stayed to assemble the chicken coop when they brought them hens and chicks; and another time, after a heavy Summer storm, they helped Sandor to repair the leaky roof and loose shutters of the hunting cottage that Sansa had first shared with Heather, who had returned to her family when her son's wife died in childbed, and now shares with Ivy.

"Have you gathered eggs yet, Ivy?" she asks the girl now.

Not yet, Lady Gr-" she corrects herself, "I mean: Arrana."

Sansa smiles gently. "You will get used to it in time, Ivy; I have. I will gather the eggs now, and then we should pull weeds from the garden while it is so bright." She adjusts her basket on her arm and turns to the henhouse.

Sandor had cleared and turned over a patch of earth so that Sansa and Heather could plant root vegetables on the edge of the clearing. He does not need to track and lay traps for rabbits so far in the woods anymore since many are caught while trying to dig up Sansa's carrots; and both the hares and the carrots and the herbs she gathers end up in the stew pot. She no longer has need of the trappings and talents of a high-born lady: well-bred courtesies and running a great keep are no longer her lot. Sansa relies now on the skills taught to her by her Umber kin by marriage, the wildling woman Heather, who taught her to skin rabbits, pluck pullets and scale fish for cooking, to plant and gather vegetables, and to sweep bare floors and scour pots. She knows to weave baskets from reeds and willow branches; and though she still sews, it is to make covers for mattresses stuffed with straw and dried heather or to mend and patch breeches and cloaks and skirts caught on branches or nails. She wears an apron over her simple dresses, and sturdy laced boots on her feet. Her life is not what it once was: it is simpler, and she must work hard; but she finds that constant occupation keep her from brooding too much on her fate and her losses, and physical exhaustion makes her sleep more soundly than she had since she was widowed.

They see few people but for the wildlings who deliver their goods and the ginger-haired soldier from Last Hearth who, nearly every four moons, rides to bring her saddlebags filled with gifts from Lyanna: threads and needles, lengths of rough spun linen or wool, combs or stockings, and cakes of soap. Hidden away among these gifts are scrolls with messages from her children, telling her that they love her and miss her. Sansa has no ink or scrolls with which to reply, and the soldier tells her it is too great a risk for there to be messages in her hand so she bids him give her children every assurance of her steadfast love and great heartache that they should remain separated. Then, when he is gone, she hides in the woods behind the stable to clutch their written words to her heart and weep helplessly. That is where Sandor once found her.

She looked up when she sensed his presence and saw that he was staring at her with a furrowed brow and hard eyes.

"F-forgive me, I- I do so miss my children; and I cannot even send them words in reply…" she whispered hoarsely.

"What do they write you? Are they angry?" he rasped shortly.

"No…they write that they love me, and that they miss me," she replied softly as her tears welled up again. "I- I am their mother…I should be with them."

"Lots of things should be, but they aren't: you know that as well as anyone…if not better," he told her bluntly.

"Y-yes," she acknowledged sadly, "but I sometimes cannot help feeling that I am cursed to lose or leave everyone that I love." She looked up at him again and was met with his stony countenance and she remembered what he had once told her of his own unhappy life. But before she could apologize again, his mouth had twitched and he reached out uncertainly to put a comforting hand on her shoulder. The gesture was so unlike the man she had once known that she had blinked in surprise and then begun to cry anew. Unnerved, he nevertheless stepped towards her and Sansa had instinctively leaned in to rest her head on his chest. He stood stock-still for a long moment, with his hands hanging at his sides, until she felt him pat her back awkwardly before putting his arms around her.

"You're alright, little bird…it will be alright," he told her quietly and she felt something brush the top of her head. Then he stood back suddenly and nodded stiffly. "I'm going fishing…in the stream," he had added unnecessarily as he took several more steps backward before turning and walking away and leaving her alone and confused. It was only the second time he had called her little bird since they had met again.

He had been helpful though distant since they had been in the woods, and had consulted with Heather when he needed more than with Sansa. He had occupied himself with reconnoitering their territory, hunting for food and chopping wood and building such things as he could. He ate their simple fare with them in the cottage before returning to the stables and then to his cabin at night or into the woods by day. Now he stayed closer to the clearing after the wildling woman had left and young Ivy had replaced her to help Sansa. Tormund had sent her because he knew how much she admired Lady Greatjon; and like all the wildlings, Ivy respected Sandor on sight for his size and looked him straight in his face, believing his scars to be a sign of his innate strength and ferocity. And so he lingered longer at table and answered most of the wildling girl's questions and in time asked her in turn about her life and the free folk. But he never asked Sansa about her own life after he had left Westeros, that is, until the night Ivy mentioned the Greatjon.

"Did you know him?" Ivy had asked Sandor.

He sniffed. "Knew of him," he answered shortly. "Fought on Pyke at the time of the Greyjoy rebellion. No missing a man that size. Good fighter," he attested firmly without looking at Sansa.

"I knew him. He was a good man," Ivy told him. "Remember, Lady…Arrana, how he carried Gretel when she fell asleep in the hall? That was the night everyone danced."

"I remember, Ivy," Sansa had replied hollowly. "Will you please fetch water from the well? I needs wash up after our meal." Sandor had sat picking at his second helping until the girl had gone and then asked her levelly in his rasping voice:

"Was he good to you?"

"Yes," she had answered unhesitatingly in a voice filled with longing, "and I loved him…I- I love him still."

He had nodded once, slowly. "Good." He finished his stew then, in two big mouthfuls, and rose to leave.

Sansa does not know why she remembers these times today, here in the henhouse while she is gathering eggs. Mayhaps it is because she means to cook them for their midday meal with watercress that she has picked from the bank of the stream. Sandor dislikes watercress, alternately calling it pond scum or food for rabbits; and yet she knows that he will eat what is set in front of him. She thinks that she understands: sometimes she wakes from dreaming of haunches of seasoned lamb or beef, and capons roasted with herbs and honey, of Arbor wines and soft cheeses, and of lemon cakes. More often she dreams of her Greatjon, and wakes flushed with yearning and tearful from grief; or she dreams of her children calling, or worse: crying for her. Sansa is still a lady, though she may no longer live as one; but at these times she silently curses the queen and her council for taking her from her life and for making her choose to hide away from the world with dyed hair and a false name as though she were a murderess.

She is about to call Ivy and Sandor in to eat when the wildling girl suddenly bursts in through the door of their cottage.

"Riders coming, Lady Greatjon! Sandor says to stay inside: he goes to meet them," she warns her with agitation. Both of them rush to their beds to find the daggers they keep beneath their mattresses. Then they crouch on either side of the door and wait. Sansa prays that it should be wildlings and not hunters asking for shelter for the night, or, gods forbid, soldiers from Kings Landing come to take her forcibly to court or to a black cell like her father.

There are voices outside and then footsteps towards the cottage before Sandor calls for Ivy. The girl hides her dagger by tucking it into the back of her breeches and sticks her head out the door and then walks out. Not a moment later does Sandor open the door and look behind it for her.

"Best you come out now," he rasps flatly. "You can leave the dagger," he adds.

Feeling curious but still guarded, Sansa opens the door of the cottage and steps out into the bright sunlight. She needs hold up her hand to shade her eyes but once they adjust, she sees horses and two tall men helping other riders dismount. When the first two figures step out from behind the horses Sansa's heart stops and then leaps into her throat. With an incoherent cry, she runs to them with wide open arms.

"Eddard! Serena!" They are in her arms and she is holding them close, laughing and crying and kissing their faces and the tops of their heads as they lean in to her and hug her tightly. They are weeping as well, crying Mama and Mother as they cling to her and their hands grip her skirts and her sleeves and her neck and her long braid. When she pulls her head back to look at them, she realizes that they have all sunk to their knees in the clearing and she laughs again but does not wipe away her tears of happiness because she would needs let go of them and she cannot bring herself to do so. Now over their heads she sees Uncle Hother, and next to him is little Gretel.

"Gretel," she calls to her gently, "will you come embrace me too?"

When she runs to join them, Sansa kisses her as well and looks at all of them in turn.

"Oh, my children…look at you," she breathes incredulously. "Are you truly here with me? I fear that I must be dreaming…"

"It's no dream, girl: they're real enough. 'Been riding with them for days, so I know," Hother states bluntly.

"Uncle Hother," Sansa stands now, still holding her children's hands. "How can I ever thank you for bringing them to me-" she breaks off now. "Is- is it safe?" she asks him now.

"It is and it isn't," he answers abruptly and then turns around as Sandor returns to the clearing.

"No one following you that I can see or hear," he tells Hother. "Still…might be best to go inside. I'll see to the horses."

"Come in to eat when you are done, Sandor," Sansa tells him and turns back to her children. "Come inside, and tell me everything…oh, I cannot believe I am seeing you again after so long…"

When they sit at table, she uncovers the dish of watercress and chopped boiled eggs and wild onions. Hother thumps down a worn leather bag and pulls out bread, sausage, hard cheese, apples, and a skin of ale.

"There's some wine in t'other bags; and some dried meat and fruit…so we don't needs eat like it's Winter rations," he grumps.

"We do what we can, Uncle Hother. I thank you for the food." She cannot resist tearing a piece of bread and sniffing it under her nose. "Mm …will you not eat, children?"

She sees that they are looking around at the cottage curiously and then back at her.

"This is the Umber hunting cottage; did your Great-uncle Hother not tell you? "

"You live here…all the time, Mama?" Serena asks her worriedly.

"Your hair is different," Eddard remarks now, "it's not like mine anymore."

Sansa gazes at them, and smiles gently. "A lot has changed for us, hasn't it? I needed dye my hair so no one could recognize me, Eddard; and the cottage…well, I wanted to live here….if I could not live with you, because it was where your father said that he had sometimes been happiest. We stopped here together once...not so many years ago, but it seems longer: a lifetime ago. I… I like to remember him this way," she tells them, and little Gretel pats her arm and nods silently.

Sandor enters the cottage now and pauses to sniff. "Is that ale?"

"Aye," Hother tells him. "Sit and drink," he pours from the skin into a tin cup on the table. "And listen: there's much you don't know, I reckon; and much you needs know. I was able to bring your children because I'm taking them North," he begins, "well, taking your girls anyway; Eddard insists on returning to Last Hearth with me."

"But why?"

"I said listen, girl, and I'll tell you," he snaps and pours himself more ale. "The sickness had reached the Dreadfort; despite Manderly closing White Harbor. Your lady sister has taken her boys to the Thenns to stay with Lady Alys; and Smalljon has sent Lyanna and their three to the Norreys, his mother's people. He was going to send your children with them, but I told him I'd bring them to you: you see less folks here than even the Thenns and wildlings. That's where we let out I was taking them, so it may be we have to go in time but for now…I figure we're all safe here."

"What of the queen and her council," Sandor rasps bitterly, "and the spider? Won't they learn of you going missing?"

Hother huffs as he swallows hid food. "Not bad this," he says grudgingly of Sansa's meal. "The dragon queen…well, I guess you can still call her that, though she's down to one and no one knows where it's gone to."

"But- but she had three dragons," Sansa remarks, "and they are supposed to live long lives: whatever happened?"

Hother smirks now, satisfied. "You're what happened, girl," he tells her. "Your death's what started it all turning against her. It stunned the whole realm: nobles and commons, it did; and singers started writing laments: Lady Sansa's Heart, and The Widow Wolf, and such nonsense," he grumbles and digs in to his dish again, talking with his mouth full. "It started people talking; saying the queen and her council were heartless and cruel; saying she was like to turn out mad…just like her father. For every noble who wanted their children at court, there were as many or more who didn't. But none dared say anything until they sent for Lord Arstan Selmy's granddaughter and told the old man the girl would have the honour of serving the queen. He asked flatly if the late Lady Umber had felt honoured."

"Oh, my…" Sansa is dumbfounded. House Selmy was the family of Ser Barristan the Bold, who had supported Daenerys Targaryen's claim to the Iron Throne; and yet their lord had defied the queen, and in Sansa's memory.

"Serves them right," Sandor rasps. "They brought it on themselves."

"And that was before the sickness came," Hother continues. "When folks started dying, they blamed the Targaryen and her dragons…said she must've carried it with her 'cause it started in Yunkai and went to Meereen and then across the Red Waste and the Dothraki Sea…everywhere she'd been. Nobles wanted their children sent home from Kings Landing but they refused: it spread first among the poor wretches in Flea Bottom and so they did nothing; then it started killing the soldiers and the rich merchants and the nobles. They closed up the city gates then but it were too late; and no one could get in or out…but for her dragons. They say folks got so angry they killed two of them."

"How'd they manage: with spears? How did they get close without getting burned alive?" Sandor questions him.

"Poison," Hother counters. "They left poisoned sheep carcasses on the tourney grounds outside the walls; some said poisoned meat was left outside the old Dragonpit too. The City Watch were near wiped out, so no one stopped them. Only the big black dragon lived…and it's fucked off…beggin' your pardon," he offers a perfunctory excuse to Sansa and her girls, "and now so's the little queen. Gone to Dragonstone to save herself, it's said, and left her council behind: the spider and the Imp…though no one's sure if they all live. Oberyn's in Dorne: that much is known."

Sandor nods and hold out his cup for more ale. "I said the bloody pale male would come, and it did. Might be hiding in the woods is the safest place now."

"Meanwhile the Seven Kingdoms are falling apart. Most ports are closed, and so no goods are being traded nor's food coming in. With commons dying, no one's bringing in the harvest; so on top of the sickness there's folks starving too. The North's the safest place since Manderly shut himself up in his city with his people; but a bloody hoard of Freys had already come hightailing it to the Dreadfort from the Riverlands, with soldiers and servants in tow, so now it's close."

"Smalljon won't let it reach Last Hearth, Mother," Eddard assures her. "The garrison and father's brothers patrol the Last River and the Lonely Hills: no one is allowed to pass onto Umber lands."

"But…but what of Winterfell?" Sansa questions anxiously. "My mother, and Rickon, and- and Roslin and Robb's daughters…everyone-"

"They're not touched as yet," Hother assures her even as he leaves the possibility open that it can change. "Lord Stark has patrols out and the Winter town's not full, not like it is in Winter; but trade with the Iron Islands is cut off, though that'll hurt them more than it will us."

"How horrible," Sansa says now. "We have been so sheltered here. Now I see that we have been fortunate. However will it all end?"

"It'll end how it always ends, girl: some folks'll die and others'll live and those that do will pick up and carry on as best they know how." He looks around the cottage appraisingly now. "Seems you're better fixed so live this through and carry on after, so best you stay here for now. But know this, girl: there's call to bring Renly back to the Iron Throne, and the North may be free to rule itself again. Even if it don't," he shrugs, "Renly's not like to grudge you your life, is he?" he asks rhetorically. "You may yet live again, girl."