When she woke, the light in the forest was still a bluish grey, and the Hound was up and tending to Stranger. Sansa shut her eyes and remained curled on the ground for as long as possible, until she was nudged gently with his foot. "Little bird," he grunted. "Daylight."
Sansa moaned softly and sat up, looking forlorn. Tears pooled in her eyes."Please," she whispered, "I'm not sure I can ride much longer." Her muscles ached near as badly as they had after the Kingsguard beatings, and she had never been so exhausted.
The Hound regarded her from his great height. He really is intimidating. "Should come to an inn before evenfall. Near enough to Pinkmaiden now. We'll stop."
If it had been another man, Dontos, maybe, Sansa would have kissed his cheek in gratitude. But that was as like as anything else to raise Sandor Clegane's temper against her, she reasoned.
She straightened, making a feeble attempt to smooth out the wrinkles of her dress with her hands, while Sandor packed the great black horse. He mounted in one fluid movement, motioning for her to follow. Nervous of Stranger, and in any case too small to mount by herself, Sansa had to be lifted. It was a slightly uncomfortable part of the routine into which they had fallen, morning and evening, and both invariably endured it in silence. Massive, calloused hands lifted her at the waist, ans Sansa kept her eyes downcast as she was maneuvered onto Stranger. Suddenly, though, her foot slipped in the stirrup, and her ankle twisted. She gave a small cry of pain, and the Hound grabbed her jerkily. "Careful," he muttered. Sansa met his eyes as she gripped his shoulders. "My thanks, Se-" she blushed. She was always blushing.
Sandor's mouth twitched, but he said nothing. As she righted herself in the saddle, Sansa winced. It felt as though every part of her hurt. She'd always avoided riding at Winterfell and in King's Landing as much as she could, and she regretted it bitterly now. In stark contrast to her own weak state, it seemed the Hound would have no trouble living his entire life in the saddle. Gods, she was tired. Perhaps I could… Tentatively, she leaned back a little, just barely allowing her shoulders to graze the Hound's chest plate. When he did not react, she moved closer again, until she leaned lightly upon him. Shyly, she twisted around, gazing up to determine whether Sandor Clegane was like to throw her from the saddle for her presumption. But if he had noticed her leaning upon him, he showed no sign of it. He sat upright, staring straight ahead with the reins tightly in his hand. Sansa relaxed a little, letting her head drop against him.
But after a minute, she found that her head was rattling unbearably against his armour with every jolt of the horse- if he didn't notice before he's sure to now - and her shyness and discomfort prompted her to shift forward once more, straining instead to see stone walls amongst the trees.
Finally, finally, the Hound nudged her. "There you go, girl," he said. Sansa looked up. In the distance ahead, a squat thatched building sat, with a few mangy chickens and a black pig scratching at the dirt outside. The roof looked to be in a bad state of disrepair, and the stables smelled suspicious even from where they were, but Sansa had never seen anything so homely in her life. She closed her eyes, smiled. "Thank the Gods."
"Thank Stranger," muttered the Hound. As they approached, a thin boy with a broken arm who looked more poorly fed than the pig trotted out to meet them. "Take yer horse, M'lord?"
"Aye," Sandor sighed, dismounting quickly and turning to Sansa. Even leaning over to be helped down seemed like an exhaustive effort. As the Hound gripped her around the waist and made to lift her once more, she gave an involuntary sob of pain. Her thighs and buttocks burned, and there were daggers in her ankle. The Hound frowned. "You're alright, girl," he murmured. "Saddle sore is all." Without further warning, he heaved Sansa over his shoulder, gripping her uninjured ankle with one hand and her upper thigh with the other, and striding into the inn as if she weighed no more than a feather. Sansa was left upside down, an absurd distance from the ground, and too surprised to cry any more, gazing instead at the scrawny little stable boy through her clouds of dirty hair, who only looked back at her and shrugged.
Sansa had little previous experience of inns, and her first impression of this one was severely limited by her compromising position - and yet she could not help but feel that this establishment left much to be desired. Dirty straw was scattered over the packed dirt of the floor, and from what she could see - that being precious little - the inhabitants of the common room seemed a little unsavoury. There was a stale, acidic winestink lingering over the room, and the men occupying it besides. From over his shoulder, Sansa heard Sandor ask for two rooms. "Beg Pardon, M'lord, I'm afraid not," the plump tavern girl answered, not looking the least bit afraid, or indeed at all concerned whether or not the Hound gave her his pardon. "On'y one room available. Will you and your...companion be wanting it?"
"Fine, damn you," Sandor answered gruffly. Sansa's eyes widened. Somehow, sleeping in the same room as the Hound seemed far more improper than sleeping in a clearing beneath the stars with only him for company, and she sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Mother that Lady Catelyn could not see her now.
She was heaved upstairs by a grumbling Sandor, and eventually deposited on the bed. Scrambling to maintain her dignity and pull down her skirts where they had ridden up, Sansa whispered her thanks.
"Ought to get you a bath. And some food. You'll eat in here," the Hound said, looking critically at her. "Could pass for a Tully bastard in these parts, I suppose, but you've a bloody highborn look about you even with all the muck."
Sansa meant to answer that the Tullys would not have bastards, and if they did they would own them like her Father did Jon Snow, but something made her keep quiet.
"Wait here. I'll have the girl see to you," he continued.
"What will you do?"
"Flay a man alive for a drink, if that's what it takes. Don't leave the room. Be sure to bolt this door after the maid leaves."
And he was gone, leaving Sansa alone and afraid.