Enjoy! Probably won't be able to publish tomorrow, what with work and dining out for Mother's day, but a few ideas might pop into my head as I am telling someone to have a nice day on the tills. :)

Chapter 14:

Asha Greyjoy was writing on parchment when Sansa and Sandor approached her with Arya and Brienne. As the sun had nearly completely gone down she was scribbling in a hurry, for Greyjoy had ordered no light anywhere in the encampment in order for complete camouflage. Before Sansa could make out who it was addressed to, she stamped it with the seal of House Greyjoy and gave it to one of her men to attach to a raven.

"It should follow close to the one we sent last night," She said to him before he left. She gave no hint as to who was receiving these ravens, but all Sansa could focus on now was the impending task ahead, and its overwhelming difficulty. She knew she was going back to Winterfell, but in King's Landing she had dreamt that her return home would be more beautiful and safe, above all. The fear of what Lord Bolton would do were they discovered inside the castle filled her with fear, even more so when she had overheard the men whispering about what his bastard was putting Theon Greyjoy through. What else could have prompted his sister to come looking for him? She thought of her sister and all her fierceness, and of Nymeria, the wolf and the legend, storming new lands with her ten thousand ships. She had a fleet. So does Asha Greyjoy. One that was meant for the sea but has sailed inland. She clutched Sandor's hand and tried to put thoughts of doom from her mind. As she was given a sword of her own to match her height and weight Sansa hoped she would stand as tall as he did.

Heavens know his height would be useful.

When the hilt was placed in her hand she knew she must put being a lady aside for a while. It had been forged by Mikken, her father's own man, and he had put all of his loyalty and hard work into it as he had when Eddard Stark was Lord of Winterfell. The blade was not Valyrian steel, but it was of good make with a sharp edge and light touch when she swung it. Squinting closely at it in the fading light she could make out a small direwolf at the very top next to the scabbard.

Heavens know I will need it. Perhaps I should give it a name.

"Needle would have been a good name," She murmured to herself.

"Mine is called Needle," Arya whispered back instantly, sounding almost like she had back home. Sansa ignored it with a smile and began to think of what had made her name her direwolf Lady.

Her name was what I wanted to be. What do I want now? I want to go home. I want my family alive and around me. I want Sandor. I want Winterfell.

"Wolfsong." She said the name in less than a whisper.

Sandor had been looking at her, she noticed, with the trace of a smile running from his good side to his burned side. As she squared her shoulders for what lay ahead, Sansa heard Asha Greyjoy giving her men the order for there to be absolute silence as the western sky was finally enveloped in darkness.

"Now you must go," Greyjoy mouthed. Leading them and two horses (she had felt all four would create too much noise) to the edge of the Wolfswood, she stopped just as the last ended. Beyond was the vast openness where anything could happen with no trees to hide them. As the four mounted, Sandor and Sansa on one horse, Arya and Brienne on the other, Greyjoy asked if they had any inkling as to which of the walls would be most likely to contain hidden entrances.

"There's one on the Southeast side," Arya said, "It's half hidden beneath the ground. It leads up into the crypts."

"If the Boltons are what the tales have told," Brienne whispered, "They will have no interest in keeping the crypts guarded."

"Let's bloody hope," Sandor muttered.

Asha Greyjoy stood before them. It was impossible to see in the darkness, but she wore a smile, that spoke gratitude and compassion that would have seemed unbefitting on a conqueror from the Iron Islands.

"Gods be with you." She said.

"Winter is coming." Sansa replied. Sandor and Brienne put their heels to the horses, and they set off. The shelter of the trees was much harshly cut off, and the stars were slowly unveiling to reveal an icy and bitter night. Sansa could see her own breath, but she kept one hand on Wolfsong's hilt, hidden beneath the fold of her clothes, and the other on Sandor's arm. She was enclosed in his arms as he controlled his horse, whereas Arya rode behind Brienne with her arms around her waist. The biting Northern air stung Sansa's cheeks but she could feel warmth from Sandor's body as the horses slowly broke into a quiet canter. Winterfell was gradually growing larger, looming ahead in the blackness broken in some parts by torches of nightly watches.

Yes, she thought, Winter is coming. And so are the Wolves.