Sansa was sat turning dinner on a spit. Sandor had gone back again to the small creek a short ride away to spear more fish for the fire. Arya and Brienne were making good use of the huge open spaces the forest provided, in fact, as a good spot for a fight.

"You're incredibly light on your feet, Lady Arya," Brienne remarked, as the youngest Stark made a light jump away from her blade Oathkeeper.

"I'm not a lady. I'm a water dancer," Arya shot back, leaping around as if she had been born on her tip toes. Sansa had been horrified when she had looked up and saw Arya in a tree leaping about slashing with her sword, letting the leaves and branches fall. However she was impressed how easily Arya took to the air when there were too few branches so she had to drop with them, landing on her feet, and continued on her self-devised routine, slicing at the trunk. Sansa had seen Brienne look over at Arya and make a slightly different expression each time until she was suddenly up and standing a few feet from Arya, telling her how to hold her weight and how to position her hands on the hilt.

"You'll have better control if you hold it with both hands," Brienne was saying.

"Needle is light enough to hold with one, it is as heavy as I need it to be, and good for my balance." Arya rejected.

She really did listen to that dancing master, Sansa thought to herself, what was his name, something Forel? Syrio, was it?

It was a strange sight- Brienne standing at over 6 feet with her feet planted firmly into the ground as if she were a tree trunk, and small Arya flitting around her like a leaf on the wind, muttering the occasional sentence, something like,

"Light as a feather," or "quiet as a shadow." It was hard for the Maid of Tarth to hide how impressed she was. The same could be said for Arya- she had never before seen another female who enjoyed the sword more than the song. Sansa noticed as she became more confident she began smiling up at Brienne and her swordplay became more confident.

"Dead," Arya said, making a sudden plunge for Brienne's knee,

"Dead," She said again, when Brienne bent her knees to take a lower mock stab at her,

"Very dead," When Brienne raised her sword above her head.

"Your armour," Arya explained without any hint of arrogance, "It weighs you down. You shouldn't wear any."

"But how else would I keep my body safe?" Brienne asked, looking at the girl, trying not to smile.

"With speed," Arya said, "Quick as a snake," She dashed around Brienne, "smooth as silk. Swift as a deer."

"That's certainly a good tactic," Brienne spoke with all the respect people only usually show Lords, Sansa noticed, "But you also need to keep your head planted on the ground. Know it. Know where you're putting your foot better than your opponent. Lunge and use your weight as a weapon, both intimidation and power."

Arya stood to one side patiently as Brienne demonstrated. The fish was beginning to smoke but Sansa just had to carry on watching the pair.

A sudden clump of wood being thrown into the flames alerted her that Sandor had returned. From a stitched bag he drew two more dead fish, placing them near to the fire so Sansa could start turning them. She noticed he had sat much closer to her than he probably intended, and with an awkward glance downwards she realised their legs were almost touching. Taking a deep breath, she made her shoulders drop, whereas before they had been tense. She wondered if, next to her, he was having the same thoughts racing around in his mind in a panic. Does he want me to say something? She tightened her lips. Why is it so awkward? Because there was no other word for it: awkward. There hung a silence between them, only animated by the crackling of the fire on the logs and the occasional clash between the two nearby swords and words of exchange between their bearers. I wonder if it was like this between him and Arya. No, Arya is too headstrong. She would have been too busy practicing with her sword to care about conversation. But she was not her sister. She did want to be able to talk to Sandor, but there was too much surrounding him. She couldn't say what, but it was the same with Brienne. They were both two private. But whereas Sandor could down several flagons of wine and roar about his past (well, to Sansa he had), Brienne kept hers barred behind walls higher than that of Winterfell. If only she could find a subject she could keep going…

"Were they hard to catch?" She blurted, "The fish."

"No." His answer was blunt. That's that, I suppose. She stared glumly at the fish, expecting them to suddenly give her something she could speak with Sandor about.

"I beg pardon, Ser," She began, then realised. He hates knights. Next to her, Clegane laughed, his voice the sound of a sword scraping on rock.

"You're still living in a song, aren't you?" He rasped, "Still repeating all the pretty little things they taught you, little bird."

"No I'm not," She objected, "I stopped doing whatever people want me to do a long time ago. The Lannisters wanted me to stay in King's Landing, but I left. Tyrion Lannister wanted to come into my bed, but I wouldn't let him," Sansa stopped, and swallowed her words, shocked at her own outburst. She shot a nervous glance at Sandor. His mouth twitched.

"Bloody good for you, girl," He slowly spoke after a few seconds, "You shite on his head and flew away. I'm fucking glad."

She turned away. He still thinks I am a child. Just a stupid little bird that will fly wherever it is told, no matter what I tell him. I've flowered, been married, everything a woman has ever done. It makes no difference. Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder.

"I am glad he didn't touch you," His voice was low, an almost hollow sound. "I'm glad you didn't let him." She looked back at him. His face showed an expression of respect. In the Red Keep, he had always looked at her in a way that made her unable to look back at him, which was why he had always assumed she was afraid of him, and rightly. But now she found she was able to.

Before she could say anything however, he was suddenly on his feet, his hand leaving her shoulder leaving it cold, marching over to Brienne and Arya whilst barking:

"For god's sake if you fight like that it's a fucking wonder you're still alive...here's how you bloody well do it…"

"Not everyone fights the same as you, hound." Brienne spat, turning her attention back to Arya.

"If they did they'd be alive and I'd be the one in the ground, not the other way round…"

"Arya, watch-no- watch me, hold your sword like this, standing…legs like so… and hold. Wait for your enemy to strike the first blow…"

"No - you need to hit hard and fast whilst they're weak."

"Defence is the best attack…"

"Fuck that- attack before they can defend…"

Soon Brienne and the Hound stood at full equal height spitting poison at each other with Arya between them, looking up at them the way Father used to look at Sansa and Arya when they used to squabble as infants. As the argument escalated Arya put her sword away and stood with her arms folded, one eyebrow raised, leaning on one foot.

Eventually Sansa could stand it no longer.

"Will the pair of you stop arguing," Her voice cut across the clearance to them, "And just sit down and eat something!"

They shot a death look at each other and reluctantly came to accept some smoked fish from her. Arya however remained where she was, and drew Needle, saying,

"Actually you were both wrong."

On that remark both Sandor and Brienne's heads shot up, as Sansa could feel her efforts being wasted. "About how to stand," Continued Arya, "It's better to stand sideways. There's less of a target. If you're facing them, they could stab you anywhere."

"The girl has a point, hound." Said Brienne before taking a bite of fish.

"I don't want to hear any more about swords or how to handle them," Sansa spoke as sternly as she could, "Arya, come and eat!"

She could feel a sullen look from her sister, but nevertheless Arya came and sat down. They ate in silence.