MINOR WARNING: Canon-divergence/semi-AU/flexible timeframe from here on!

Imagine everyone's storyline turning out relatively the same way, only with the exception of Sansa's. So please no flames (especially Sansa-hating flames). It's called "fanfiction" for a reason.

But I really do want to thank those who had Followed and Favorited the first chapter so far! You're all quite wonderful.

In what seemed like a very long time, Sansa had once again acted on sheer, unadulterated impulse.

Her most recent memories of Lord Baelish kissing her and her manic aunt nearly tossing her down through the Moon Door were already falling behind her with those of her dying innocence as she ran.

Aye, she was running away.

She had put on a brave act in order to help Lord Baelish snake his way out of his trial hearing over Lysa's death, along with the potential punishment that would've followed—and then that night—when she was certain no one would stir from their pleased slumber, she took a chance. She forced herself to steal a bit of pocket money for travel, for food at best, and a single cloak from the wardrobes, and she slipped off into the shadows, never glancing back.

She didn't know where she was exactly; she no map or other drawings with her. But there were two things she was aiming for. First and foremost, was to win back the North, and perhaps with a touch of earned luck, there she could stay. To her, it wasn't a highly ridiculous notion, even if she could practically hear the others laughing at her already. Sansa recalled several moments in the past, when the great Lion Queen herself would gaze at her with a certain recognition sparking in her eyes, as if she saw something in Sansa that could threaten her title and the titles of her precious children whenever Sansa would dare to display a stronger level of dignity and authority at their dinner table. Sansa even began to notice how The Lion Queen would usually cover up her concerns with a spiteful comment and end each conversation like that with clenched teeth, saying, "You sweet little caged dove." It felt as though the Lion Queen avoided calling Sansa a Wolf intentionally, just in case that one word would empower Sansa to fight back.

(So Sansa evidently had the right tools; she just needed to sharpen them yet.)

The second personal goal Sansa made was to distant herself from the urban world until such day. She wanted to remain low, kept away from folk like Lord Baelish, who was no better than the Lannisters when it came to tarnishing the trust she had put in him. It was irking her more than ever now to realize that her esteemed Tully beauty was not just a blessing...it was also a curse. It caused city men to want her, to use her, and lust after her at the least appropriate timing! Sansa had only helped Baelish because it benefited her too, so that her escape would have been less suspected.

Nevertheless, she was currently traveling on the side of the road, weaving through the trees alone. It was probably a tactic no one would expect her to try willingly.

But she did it anyhow. For Sansa was also quite aware of how many people assumed she wasn't that bright or that strong to start with. Her enemies believed that she was a fragile girl who only cared for pretty gowns and love poetry. However, in truth, that very assumption became her main defense along the way—so even if it annoyed her to be called stupid over and over and over again—Sansa figured out how to take advantage of that whenever she was trapped. Seeming meek and completely submissive was what saved her. Knights in King's Landing had beat her on a regular basis, most definitely, and her father was executed in right front of her—but still, it was her sad pretty eyes, and her long vibrant curls, her soft birdlike demeanor that barred them from killing her overall. Her looks, at least, would not be wasted.

To her credit, she was doing more than surrounding to the Lions, she was surviving.

Though despite her determination to move on and find a lost sense of herself, Sansa had to briefly wonder what Lord Baelish's reaction was as soon as he realized she'd left him like that. Where he and the others in the council going frantic searching for her?

She couldn't allow herself to care about that for too much longer. She did not want to care about it. For now, her last few remaining strands of faith she had left over were solely reserved for her siblings. It was only right. No one knew that every night before shutting her eyes, Sansa had to started to lay there repeating, Robb, Arya, Bran, Rickon, Jon... Robb, Arya, Bran, Rickon, Jon...Robb, Arya, Bran, Rickon, Jon... Their names were the only names in this world that kept her own sanity stable as much as it was.

Sansa counted another sunrise since then. With all things considered, she was doing alright yet. Still surviving. Still uncaught. And the funniest part of all this was how little she was fretting. Fretting about herself out here. She felt more at peace. And she was honestly waiting for the morning when she would wake up in a feverish panic, change her mind and crawl to Lord Baelish after all, pleading for his forgiveness and beg him to keep her safe if he still would.

That particular morning never came.

Perhaps it was her grief and anger over losing so much which caused Sansa to have such resistance. She was finished with letting fellow Game Players push her deeper into bad situations. The plain thought of one more aspect in her life being taken away from her was reinforcing her all the better. Hardening her mind.

"From porcelain, to ivory, to steel...," Sansa recited quietly to the steady rhythm of her own footsteps. "...From porcelain, to ivory, to steel."

Although, Sansa eventually grasped that she would soon have another possible setback: the harsh coldness of Winter. She indeed wanted Winter to come, and she wanted the Stark Wolves to return with it, but, she didn't want to simply freeze to death outside before that, and not after all the dangers she'd had already clawed her way out of. Now that would be stupid of her.

She rationed the money she had stolen wouldn't last her through the whole season, and she only had this old wool cloak on her back to shield out the nightly winds. She wouldn't be able to afford longings or new clothing for that long at all. And she was not the type of woman to sell herself into prostitution, especially when she never had bedded a man before... Yet, Sansa told herself to strategize a plan for safer Winter-living later on. Today, she just trained her eyes ahead while passing through a small marketplace with her hood up, masking most of her face from bystanders. She was also surprisingly talented at not drawing vast attention to herself in spite of the fact that she was always known for attracting the Northern crowds to her years ago.

Sansa sat and ate the warm bread she decided to buy from an elderly backer woman and granted herself the luxury of napping at an inn up the street. Then as she was refreshed and ready, she gradually moved her way back towards the woods. The woods...a place she could imagine Arya hiding in for days while enjoying it; however, it was a place that was becoming equally ideal to her as well.

Five more nights passed like this and by now Sansa's skin was getting caked with the wet soil and grime. Her hair was straighter than usual, damp and oily. Sansa was clearly not accustomed to gaining this slums-peasant look, and she did urge herself to ignore her lack of cleanliness for two additional days afterwards. Really, she tried...until she actually started to notice her own smell.

So when a large hanging sign advertised longings at the High Horse Inn had caught her eye that afternoon in the next village, Sansa decided to take the opportunity to wash herself, thinking, even Lady and the rest of the Dires had the mere decency of licking their paws clean when they got all muddy.

The middle-aged Inn's Keeper went by Tanner Blackenedfeather, and his outgoing wife, Ingret, initially reminded Sansa of an older version of Shae when she had walked up to their desk, politely requesting a room.

Tanner and Ingret (unsurprisingly) fell for her humbleness and Tully features as quickly as so many had before them.

"What is your name, child?" they had asked her.

Saying 'Sansa Stark' was out of the question. Telling them 'Alayne Stone' was just as risky.

But, instead, the name that had rolled off her tongue was, "Lady. Call me Lady."

Thus, apart from Sansa needing a bath, her first night there was actually free of charge since the couple found her so harmless and endearing. Again—Sansa was growing tired of that, of not being taken seriously enough—though for the time being, she was getting exactly what she asked for without hassle for once. She prompted herself to keep appreciating it while it lasted since the larger battles would be waiting up ahead still. And there, she would have to fight with every pretty tooth and nail the Old Gods had given her. There'd be no way around it.

Sansa relaxed against the cool edge of the bath that night—as well as the next night, also the next, and the next, and tonight—happily soaking in the warmth of the water.

She closed her eyes, letting the walls around her to slowly drift away, and Sansa sunk into a dreamlike state. She was envisioning a sea of snow, shadowy hills, and mist flowing through white trees. She began to see dark shapes darting around her, swift and agile. Paw prints plagued the trails. Low howls were released in the distance.

Sansa's figures began to twitch, her eyelids began to flutter as the images progressed in her mind.

Lady?

Suddenly, somebody was knocking on the door.

"Little Lady?" Ingret's slightly-accented voice yanked Sansa back to her reality. "Lady, are you alright?"

Sansa startled, growing fully alert, splashing in the water as she angled herself towards the doorway. "Yes!" she called out, feeling flushed.

"You've been in there for quite a while. I made you something hot to eat."

"Oh. Thank you. I won't be long then!"

After Sansa had braided her wet hair over her shoulder, she slipped on her evening robe and left the washroom to search for Ingret. However when she descended the narrow wooden staircase, the dimmed dining hall was suddenly crowded with a lively band of brown-skinned scruffy looking men, all of them cackling, clapping, caroling shanties, and guzzling down ale with each other.

Ingret approached her soon afterwards from the sidelines, skillfully balancing four fresh pints between her fingertips all at one. She and Sansa inclined their heads together as she began to explain. "Just some common sailors from Braavos. They pass through here every now and then, but never linger in one place for too long...," Ingret lowered her tone as she finished, "Though I think they loot for a living. Don't pester them and they won't pester you, love. And I ended up putting your plate in your room. Go." She turned away then, nodding, and she served the sailors their new round of drinks.

Sansa naturally tried to do the safest thing, reel back and just go eat her supper upstairs. Luckily, none of the drunks seemed to care she was there. Cautiously retreating towards the narrow staircase, her gaze flittered over room.

Oh no.

She was wrong. And an instant too late. One of them caught her in the act. He was glaring at her. He had greasy dark hair that fell in long ringlets down his cheeks. And his black eyes were anything but courteous. She'd seen that sort of look on Lord Baelish after he had kissed her. She did not need the ability to read his thoughts to know what he was probably thinking while he watched her.

Sansa swallowed hard as she feigned her most determined face she could possibly muster in return to silently scold him for staring. Then in a flash, she fled upstairs.

Jon had a strange dream.

All night long, he drowned in slow-paced flashes of the North, and of who he assumed was its new Queen since she was wondering around Winterfell as if she rightfully owned it. She wore a lovely ivory maiden's gown with flowing silken blue sleeves and she moved incredibly light on her feet as she ran into the courtyard, circling gracefully under the soft falling snow. Wolves...as many ten or so, gradually padded their up to her and surrounded her like happy faithful children. The Queen's face was a bit blurred, though her long hair was clearly red...not quite like Ygritte's wild and thick fiery hair, but Tully red, sleek, rich, and vibrant. He could see himself standing there in the archway, marveling at the sight of it all along with the wolves. He knew he loved her in a similar way that he loved his father, he could sense it.

Once he awoke, he thought it was truly strange that he would dream of such people now.

Sansa wrapped her cloak tighter around herself as she turned back onto the main road.

Ingret was expecting to see her by one hour after sunset in order to fit her into a new dress, for the gown Sansa had originally arrived in was stained with dirt and was unraveling at the hem and tearing down the right sleeve.

She could see the High Horse Inn glowing under the swinging lanterns straight ahead of her—

Though unexpectedly, Sansa was yanked by the wrist and before she knew it, she was whirled into an alleyway. She let out a shriek that was instantly cut off when she was roughly pinned to the wall behind her.

"Aw, aren't ya a preddy sight," her captor hissed into her ear with hot breath that stunk of ale and lust. Sansa immediately realized he was that one Braavos sailor from the festivity the other night. The one who gawked.

Sansa twisted frantically, then, she stilled again in his iron grip to demand to be set lose properly instead, with a clear and stern voice. She pondered if she should him give him one chance to reconsider his intensions. Unfortunately he was enjoying himself far too much. He smiled, showing off his rotting teeth. One calloused hand stroked the length of her hip and then it was pushing up her skirt higher against her virgin skin. His knee parted her thighs a little more...his mouth landed lazily onto her neck...and Sansa tried to angle her head away, whimpering, inwardly cursing the stars for this. She could feel him pulling at her under garments as his kiss grew in its cruelty and selfishness.

Her insides began to tingle with a dark passion that seemed too complex to be even called revulsion. It was the same deadly sensation she had felt in Joffrey's presence, believing she could have avenged her father by throwing him right off that tower overpass. Sansa gripped the sailor's shoulders, her teeth gnashing together, and a deep hoarse sound erupted from her throat before she shoved him away with all her might. He flew back into the opposite wall so unpredictably hard that she actually heard a faint cracking noise upon impact. Flakes of stone crumbled, and rained down over him.

Shaking his head to regain control, the sailor's features turned downright savage and he began reaching for her again. "Why ya little—"

She stood there, panting. Her own hands were flexed and curled by her sides. Another rush shot through her as soon as he was a mere step away and Sansa struck him down a second time, causing him to sink to his hands and knees, screeching in pain. That was no ordinary slap. It was not like the disciplining slap she had given Robin, cousin to cousin. This time, there was blood. Three profound lines, red and gagged, slanted down the sailor's face. His left eye was already swelling from the injury.

Sansa felt no pity. At all. Her one dripping, red hand lifted and clutched her attacker-turned-victim by the jaw.

"Sail back to Braavos...," she growled down at him in a voice that almost wasn't her own. It came out more menacing, deeper, nearly inhuman. The sailor's better eye widened, watching her like she was possessed by an evil spirit, "...And live with yourself, because you don't deserve a quick death."

With that, she easily pushed him aside like a used washrag and he scampered away from her as fast as legs would carry him.

Upon that following day, Sansa had slipped out of her guest cot with an incredible hunger that simply perplexed her. And because it puzzled her that much, it made her irritable and on edge. The very scent of the sailor's blood secretly drying around the corners of her nails now did nothing to soothe her nerves.

She dressed herself hastily to request breakfast and she had to do a dramatic double-take at herself in the mirror hanging in the corridor once, briefly thinking her eyes were glowing.

The fresh milk served with Tanner's famous dark bread and pudding dish tasted like ash in her mouth. But she ate the entire meal, hoping this craving would pass if she did.

Eventually Sansa just set down her spoon, planting her palms flat down on either side of her plate and dwelled over her situation. She thought about the Braavos sailor and is injury. She thought about Lysa and her madness. She thought about guilt and purity. She thought about the Lion Queen and the Hound. Sansa, at last, thought about her own sanity, and measured the possibility that she was finally losing hers too regardless.

What is happening to me?

How else would one explain her current behavior? But inhaled in five deep breaths and regained some forgotten humility.

Perhaps I could use a little more sleep. That's all.

Deciding that was her best option, Sansa rose and sharply pushed her chair from the table, not knowing that Ingret was just coming up behind her though with a second cup of milk in hand when she moved, and Ingret lost her hold on the drink.

Sansa's hand once again physically reacted before her mind could. She snatched the cup during its fall perfectly in time, catching every single drop that threatened to spill over.

Ingret stared at the cup, totally stunned, yet thankful that Sansa managed to save her from cleaning up that mess. She grinned, sighing in relief. "My, you're a quick one, love."

Sansa simply nodded, calculating a reasonable response after Ingret retrieved the cup from her, setting it down by her empty plate. Before she found the correct words though, the tiny brass bell above the Inn's entrance jingled while a father and son stepped in out from the cold.

A strong gust of wind flooded towards them all as the pair lingered there, the door wide open, asking if any rooms were still available.

As soon as that chilled air caressed Sansa's face, her blood began to sing. Her tone turned eager and wistful when she spoke finally. "What's that smell?"

"Smell?" Ingret asked harmlessly...but Sansa was strolling outside, brushing past the customers who became baffled by this, "What sme—? Lady, wait! Where're you off—?"

"Give me a moment!" Sansa shouted over her shoulder, refusing to stop.

She stalked down the streets with purpose, unfazed that she was only in her dress, overlooking the mixture of sloppy snow and mud dirtying the bottoms of her stockings. She bumped shoulders with people, she rounded the corners tightly, she blindly shoved a beggar girl out of her path, because she was on a mission. She was on the hunt, trialing this bittersweet smell that filled her up from within.

Nobody had the chance to cease the peculiar redheaded girl who was plowing her way through the market like a little furious beast.

Eventually coming to a severe halt, which swung strands of her hair into her view, Sansa absorbed the stimulating sight displayed before her. Her mouth suddenly began to feel very wet.

The butcher's shop.

O, how she ached for the large slabs of swine hanging from hooks now, for those various animal heads, those bundles of raw cattle for sale arranged along the shelves.

Her next action mirrored that of her walking towards Joffrey, eyes subtly vicious and her footfalls gradual and lethal...going directly towards the shelves, limbs trembling.

"Oi, girl! You there!" The butcher wrapped in his blood-stained apron had spun around on her, and he pointed his knife at her. "Don't ya dare steal from me, little wench!" He continued to advance on her to protect his products. His hounddogs rushed out from behind him, altered by his shout, all barking at her as they came.

Sansa just glared daggers at the dogs, and ran for the High Horse Inn.

Questions littered Sansa's thoughts thereafter and she had to improvise another clever story to justify her actions to Ingret. "I think it may be a slight fever," was a part of it.

Ingret strained to understand...or rather, she pretended to buy into Sansa's fib, and ended up insisting that she should take another hot bath before going up to rest. Sansa in contrast followed the woman's directions simply to avoid more demands she wasn't sure how to answer.

Once she was groomed and spotless again, Sansa retired to her to her room laying back across the pillows. She allowed herself to doze off, placing the absurdity that occurred earlier that day aside.

From there, things just seemed to grow worse!

Sansa stayed in her room during that second day of feeling strange. She didn't leave her cot and Tanner and Ingret to come inside and speak with her. She even turned down a free lemoncake.

Once twilight loomed over the High Horse Inn and the moon outside waxed to her fullest glory above the neighboring rooftops, Sansa's unusual hunger had caused her to feel dizzy enough to collapse and black out...

She woke again at daybreak; and the first thing she aware of was that she wasn't in her room anymore. No. She was awkwardly nestled amongst a pile of frost and dead leaves within the small strip of woodland stretching out along the village. She was also naked...with tiny twigs and log moss matted into her hair. Her mind was swimming as if she might've had too much wine hours beforehand.

Sluggishly raising her heavy head from the ground, she spotted a corpse of a half-eaten stag was planted no less than two feet away from her. Its eyes were glossy and hollow, and the entrails were spilling out of its belly.

Completely embarrassed, Sansa carefully tiptoed out of the trees, trying to hide her body from open view by staying low to ground, ducking into the open stable when a young farm boy had walked out from the pigpens around the corner.

Ingret and Tanner'd had raised three healthy sons during their years—all of which were born with Tanner's hard, browned-peach skin and her own curly brown hair and soft green eyes. One by one, they grew and moved further and further into the cities searching for work. Askel and Balder both found careers as blacksmiths, and their youngest boy Erland, became a squire not that long ago.

And as happy as they all were living as a family, it wasn't a secret that Ingret wished for a little daughter too. She and her mother had once shared the most loving and secure relationship when she was a child, and she wanted to pass that on. Tanner, being the caring devoted husband he always been, tried to give her another child. But it wasn't meant to be; they were already getting older at the time and the last two babes prior had bled out into their bed during the night. The heartache became too much for them and they stopped trying to reproduce so purposely since.

So, one could easily imagine why she and Tanner quickly became fond of the beautiful maiden called Lady; their favorite guest with the porcelain doll face, long raven hair that shined shades lighter under the torches, and those big blue eyes which could probably lure any person with a pulse into her loving her.

She was everything they wanted in the daughter they couldn't create themselves. They both knew it. And based on how Lady was daring enough to travel on her own and hardly spoke of her own family or where she came from, Tanner and Ingret had predicted that Lady didn't have such people to rely on otherwise. So how could they not dote on her then? Lady was just so sweet and shy when she had first strolled into their Inn, that it seemed impossible for someone to abandon her. It humbled them to take care of her like one of their own. Ingret was also certain that her boys would adore Lady just as much if they'd ever received the chance to meet her.

In fact, as the days rolled by, the High Horse Inn was gradually becoming somewhat of a second home for Lady too rather than a strange place to sleep every night.

...Then again, over this past week, something had started to change their Lady, and they neither of them could comprehend fully it.

It couldn't have been a fever either, and if it was, it was unlike any fever Ingret had ever seen. Two days ago, for instance, Lady had stumbled through the back door just like a drunken whore would do, all dirty and coiled up in nothing but a small blanket she had apparently stolen from the horse stables next door on her way back. Her cheeks turned deep red when they caught her doing so. Lady couldn't even speak. She was ashamed and confused.

Therefore since that awkward encounter, Lady had been acting uncomfortable around them altogether, growing more distant, and she barricaded herself up in her room for hours at a time, always calling out, "It's best this way!" from the other side of the door whenever they'd go knocking.

Ingret had left food near Lady's door still, but as she returned to clean up the plate the only thing that would be gone would be the meat. Everything else was untouched and left there to rot. That was another peculiarity Ingret took swift notice of: the night Lady had first come to them, she had mentioned that she never that much of a meat-eater after Tanner had offered some rabbit to her—so that's why Tanner would avoid giving Lady pork or said rabbit with her breakfast. Now Lady was refusing to consume anything but meat?

Tanner whispered to his wife that evening, speculating if it was Lady's womanly cycle that put her in these moods. Ingret huffed back at him, saying that wasn't always the answer to figuring out the ways of stubborn young women.

Ingret, although, was very certain that the personal changes Lady was facing had to be so much more than that. It was a war of the spirit, not the body. The mystery still made her heart throb each time Lady emerged from the shadows only for a few moments before disappearing again, and Ingret promised herself that she and her husband would not give up on this girl.

They wouldn't give up on a child that could be theirs again.

Sansa didn't know how she got back to Winterfell safely and unscathed, but she could recognize those crumbled walls anywhere. And she was there. She wandered carefully through the gates with grace.

Their home looked like a gravesite that hadn't been touched by men in ages. The runes spread out in a spherical pattern and pure lush snow blanketed everything else.

She marveled at the sight while little white flurries dropped down from the cloudy sky above, getting caught in her long lashes or on the thick collar of her cloak.

It felt oddly peaceful here. Too good to be real.

"Beautiful isn't it?" someone said.

Wait! She knew that voice!

She turned around and found Robb standing there, dressed in good quality furs, tall and handsome in the way she preferred to remember him. Beside him was Lady, the real Lady— plus Grey Wind—in all their wolfish glory.

"Lady! Robb!" Initially, she had every intention of tossing herself into her brother's arms, then, common sense had caught up her as soon as she in his reach and Sansa restrained herself, recoiling from him. All she felt in that next moment was confusion. He was supposed to be dead. "How can you—? I don't understand."

"It's alright, Sansa." Robb offered good-naturedly, "...What's happening to you, I mean. You don't have to be afraid of it."

She shook her head, feeling the tears well up in her eyes. But they didn't fall. "I am not afraid, really...I just don't know what is happening to me."

"Sansa, Winter is the season of changes, and it tends to change everything else with it. And without me there, and without Father and Mother, you're changing too. You've relied on your Tully blood so much in your childhood. More than the rest of us. But it's not enough, not anymore... You have already been thinking that, haven't you?"

"I—"

Robb interjected her excuse, "Lady can't be there to teach you what it means to be a Wolf. It's a shame you lost her so soon. You could have done remarkable things with her at your side...," Robb said this in a gentler way to not make it seem as if he was trying to scold her. "But, Sansa, don't forget it. The Wolf inside you is waking. Listen to her. The Stark Pack is yours now. So embrace it. Don't ignore it in the way that you've always tried to do."

Sansa bowed her head partly in embarrassment and partly in sorrow. Didn't he remember how everything was before his death? There was no Stark Pack. None of them knew anything about the other's wellbeing. The family was scattered, struggling, and broken.

Lady whined, echoing Sansa's emotions.

Yet, Robb was persistent. "I remember you, little sister, the true you. I do. You always wanted to be a Queen, more than anything, even as a small child that could barely walk on her own two feet. Why? Because you're the eldest daughter. The Alpha Female in our littler. Being a leader, being in charge, being demanding and pampered and adored by all those around you, constantly planning and thinking of how to get what you want—all of that comes natural to you. You just need to find your way again. A new way."

"Arya's more Wolf than I am," admitted Sansa after a moment or two, believing that her sister was right in that sense. Arya acted the boldest. She was the true wolfgirl. "She'd say the same thing if she were here."

Unbothered, Robb grinned lightly, knowingly. "Sansa, our sister actually has much to learn yet about being a Wolf too. And it's just as funny that you don't even realize how much of a Wolf you really are yourself...how much of a Wolf you've been."

Sansa stared back at him curiously.

And that's when Robb and the two Dires gradually turned into a swirling mist before her and faded from sight...

Sansa opened her eyes and suddenly shot up in her cot, breathing heavily.

Whether that had been an actual vision of Robb's spirit visiting her in her sleep, or it was just an ordinary dream her psyche imagined up on its own in order to cope with her situation...either way, Sansa had much to dwell on and reconsider.

Several moons later, Arya didn't even care to pay the man who wore that old bandage over one purple eye any sort of special attention at first. It wasn't as if this mess hall of a tavern wasn't already full of Braavos' fellow scoundrels like him anyhow. It was only when he stood up, aggressively pounding on the table did she glance his way.

"Nay! Do ya not hear what I am tellin' ya?" he slurred at his sailor companion. "All I wanted was a good fuck! That was all!" Arya rolled her eyes and was about to casually make her leave while the man continued to ramble on loudly. "Then I get clawed in the face!"

"And the girl gave you that?" She heard his companion reply as she had to pass by them to reach the doors. Obviously the second man was trying his best to piece together the riddle. Arya guessed it wasn't the first time he had heard this story, though because his bandaged friend was a drunk and a very frustrated one at that, he just couldn't make any more sense of it.

"Gods! Nay! How many times do I hav'ta say it? It was no girl...," the bandaged man emphasized with a hard sneer. "It was a wolf. It was a wolf, I tell ya!"

This statement caused Arya to stop near a pillar to eavesdrop.

His companion was at another lost. "Ya...w're trying to fuck a wolf?"

"Aw, come now, mate," the bandaged man drawled out, a bit more calmly. He huffed and sat back down. He was so sure of his claim even though he sounded fairly delusional by this point. "I didn't know it was a wolf at first. She looked as plain as you and me, but I saw it. It was there behind her eyes. They were normal, then bright yellow, just like that. After I got on my feet again, and blood was pouring from my eye...there was a wolf staring back at me."

Arya ducked out of that place quickly afterwards, not wanting to linger. The topic of wolves made her ache inside and it would've put another crack in the fierce mask she forever practiced to maintain.

But when she unsheathed Needle and trained by herself in privacy for the rest of the day, Arya couldn't help but to wonder about what she had heard.

Dusk was once again creeping over the horizon; the cycle of wee hours and daylight was unending.

Sansa currently holding a basket full of fresh bread for Tanner, was nonchalantly strolling up the side road which would lead her right into the High Horse's private little courtyard in back. Apparently in summertime, Ingret and Tanner enjoyed to raise their own garden there and plant their own grain and vegetables.

Although that evening, something was not quite right:

Sansa heard the shrill echoes; she could feel the tension starting to build from where she was. She quickened her pace, crunching through the old layers of snow as she went. Shouts called for Tanner, and then the growling followed. Sansa willingly dropped the basket on the spot and broke into a stronger sprint.

Sansa's jaw literally dropped from the shock of seeing wolves again and seeing them so close up. She spotted the first two wolves dragging pieces of their goat across the garden. She and Ingret had gotten that goat together from a wandering animal trader the night before, and it was supposed to be their supper.

But evidently the pack had caught the scent of the slaughter and grew desperate enough to approach humans for the meal.

The guests were calling down from their open windows, mostly encouraging Tanner get back inside who instead was trying to fend of the predators singlehandedly, while having nothing but a fallen tree branch as his only potential weapon. The louder he'd "Get! Get!" at them, the more the wolves took this gesture as a major threat to the pack. They were losing focus on running off with goat's full carcass and became more determined to keep Tanner at bay, to protect themselves. One jolted forward, teeth showing, making Tanner fall against the thick row of naked bushes behind him.

Sansa recalled this was a classic cornering style for wolves. However—among this ordinary looking pack—there was that one shewolf in the front that was moderately larger and heavier-set compared to the other wolves pleasantly flanking her. She was definitely the size of a maturing Dire.

And of course Sansa recognized her immediately.

Nymeria! Oh, if only Arya was here!

Her stomach fluttered with honest excitement. Although on the other hand, she didn't want what happened to Joffrey happen to Tanner. He was a good man after all, and wouldn't really deserve a bleeding arm. Or worse than that.

And before she thought further of the consequences, she darted forth and in within a matter of seconds, she was sliding in between the wolves and Inn's Keeper, planting herself firmly above of Tanner, arms angled out, her back hunched ever so slightly in a defensive manner. "Don't, Nymeria!" she commanded.

Nymeria, caught off guard, ceased her stalking. Her eyes focused on Sansa, still showing her fangs...but surprisingly not as much.

Sansa's new strange instincts possessed her once more; she copied Nymeria, bearing her teeth, hardening her features and snarled in her throat. Beyond that, She was only vaguely aware that her eyes changed color—turning yellow—her nails extended somewhat, growing pointed.

"L-Lady?" Tanner was nearly breathless beneath her, shaken and astonished.

Sansa couldn't expect him to understand.

So as it was, Stark daughter and long-lost Dire continue to test each other in the succeeding silence.

Then Ingret appeared, her kitted winter shall slipped down her shoulders as she stopped a few feet from Sansa and Nymeria. "Lady!" she hissed. "Oh, Gods— "

Nymeria returned to her threatening stance, hearing the woman exposing her fear.

Again, Sansa reacted fast and swiftly sidestepped to separate Ingret from Nymeria now. She held her ground, holding one arm out towards Ingret, her other fingers spread wide, signaling her to keep her distance and to keep as quiet as possible. Nymeria still hesitated. She licked her chops and relocked eyes with Sansa—which was a very significant action for wolves. It was a sign of sheer awareness or an invitation to a challenge.

The other wolves stood nearby on the sidelines observing them all curiously, some began growling, the others were whining softly as they waited for their leader to decide on a move.

Sansa finally returned to her regular self after losing her grip on the beast inside, and she bowed her head in courtesy before Nymeria.

Nymeria grunted, slowly withdrawing herself back and made a urging sound to drive the pack to follow her back into the forest.

An hour later, Tanner had lit the fireplace and gave Ingret some wine they saved in the cellar. He thought it might calm her. It had turned into rather an exhilarating night. Sansa felt obligated to tell them about her family's history with the Direwolf cubs, but, within great consideration obviously. She left out the highly personal memories and simply just brushed over the surface of it all.

"I...noticed that Nymeria's belly is swelling," she added, eyes flickering sheepishly towards the crackling flames. She tried defending the wolves, still trying to avoid a conflict with them about it. "Usually wolves don't approach humans like that, really, they don't. Wild ones want to keep their distance because they fear man as much as you would fear them. But if Nymeria is expecting...and because Direwolves are larger and need more to eat to begin with...it is possible she'll try anything these days to get her fill."

Sansa was frankly amazed at the thought of Nymeria having her own litter, even if she (and Lady) would have been at the height of their maturity by now. So it wasn't that impossible. It's just...Sansa pondered if it was a male wolf in her new pack that managed to mate with her, or was there another Dire out there they were never aware of? She remembered the day when she asked her father about Lady's parents. Ned in return, wasn't too sure about them since the mother Dire was already alone and dead when they found her, but he had briefly mentioned that wolves do have their mating season early in Winter and then deliver later on in their Winter; sometimes they even breed with common house hounds in some cases.

"We are not angry, child." Tanner finally spoke up after Sansa's tale came to a close. "In fact...we're grateful for what you were able to do."

Sansa shivered. "Listen, also about that—if you tell anyone right now about what you have witnessed, it might not—that is, I wouldn't even know how to explain—"

"Don't fret, Lady. Everything actually has become quite clear." It was Ingret's turn to comfort her. "Your...gift shall be safe with us," she muttered softly, "it's the least we can do since you practically saved our lives."

At first Sansa couldn't help but to eye them suspiciously. Though her mistrust weakened and it was quickly replaced by genuine happiness. Maybe it was her newly awoken senses that couldn't pick up on anything wrong...or maybe it was the matching pair of tender smiles they offered her just then. Whatever it was, there was truth in their words. Silly as it was, small tears pricked at Sansa's eyes. "Really?"

Tanner nodded. "It's a dark and harsh world we live in currently, lass, and good intensions are getting harder and harder to find these days, but they live on in us."

Sansa, now totally overwhelmed, threw herself at the couple, granted each of their cheeks a thankful kiss.

"You're quiet today, Jon Snow."

"I had that dream again."

Ygritte flashed him her typical mocking smirk. "Oh, right...the mysterious Queen of Winterfell..."

"It's Sansa," he stated. He seemed to be dwelling on the matter for a while now and he finally had to admit it out in the open. "It has to be Sansa."

"Who?"

"She's...," Jon trailed off temporarily, "...my father's eldest daughter."

"She's your baby sister then, yes?" Ygritte mused, climbing over another boulder with Jon close on her heels.

"I'm a bastard to her," he reminded her as they slid down and found their proper footing again. "She and her mother never really...well, I wouldn't be able to call her that so simply."

Ygritte shrugged. "Perhaps that's changing. Dreams always mean something, don't they?"

Jon glanced towards the Northern skies.

Do they?

"Lord Baelish?" The elderly council woman walked up to him gently with all her naivety. "Any sight of your darling Stark girl? I just cannot fathom what could have happened to her."

Petyr wanted to lash out her, for his own seething anger was dangerously boiling over, but he couldn't afford to let down appearances just yet. He overstressed a sad sigh and put on his most innocent mask he had to share. "I'm afraid not. Though I do believe I know where she might be heading, so I have sent the word out."

She smiled. "Of course. We must have faith."

Winter was almost here. Winter was almost here!

Finally, Winter was almost here! Sansa could feel it humming under her skin. It was just the start of the season. And the white ravens took flight overhead.

The recent nights were getting colder, darker, and longer.

"Bran?"

The little Winged Wolf regarded his brother patiently despite what they'd just gone through. He was exhausted when it came to thinking about Theon and his choices. "What is it?"

"You were talking in your sleep again," Rickon informed him.

"Was I?"

"Were dreaming about Sansa? You whispered her name a few times more than anything else."

"Yes, I was dreaming about her. But we were all with her, in the North, with many wolves. Even Jon."

"...What's that supposed to mean?"

Bran impulsively looked over at Summer resting beside him. The light-coated Dire peered back at him for a long moment. Sure, Bran had been learning how to dreamwalk in Summer's skin and so on...or what he thought was Summer's skin, and yet, Summer's golden eyes still seemed to hold a glimmer of some other unspoken knowledge he was unable to tell him.

So forlornly, Bran just shook his head. "I don't know."

Sansa frantically bounded down the narrow staircase, ready to make for the exit but she bumped into Tanner at the bottom, followed closely by Ingret—both of whom had deep concern etched into their faces.

"I'm leaving," Sansa told them rummaging about the room, slinging her cloak around her and stuffing all the necessities she could in its pockets; a little food, Ingret's stitching supplies and a slim cooking knife... "I overheard those Southern men talking upstairs in the corridor. They mean to hunt down Nymeria for sport. I have to find her before they do. Somehow."

If she could make it happen, Sansa would save Nymeria from becoming merely a head mounted on a trophy wall. She would not have her sister's Dire die on her account like Lady had. Especially since Nymeria is carrying cubs besides.

"Wait, Lady." Tanner stiffened after she asked them to lend her a pair of snow boots. "Aren't you coming back?"

Sansa stilled in front of the doorway after Ingret grimly handed her the boots, realizing she had already made her choice, and it didn't involve them. Staring back at the couple who fostered her so sweetly. Her heart dropped into her stomach as she chocked on a sob. "Your generosity will not be forgotten."

"Please, child. Let us help." Ingret stroked her hair lovingly one last time.

Sansa gingerly pushed her hand away regardless of her longing to feel a mother's touch again. She shook her head in warning. She must remain steel. "No, stay here. I don't want you two getting hurt. I must learn to take care of things by myself now. After all, I'm the only person in this village who Nymeria might not attack."

"There has to be something we can do," Tanner insisted, gripping at Sansa's elbow now.

Only for their benefit, Sansa thought over it quickly, then firmly, she said, "Stall them," before she hurried out of the High Horse Inn, very likely never to return.

Jon made a point to visit Tormund, who ended up telling him that Ygritte did truly love him all along, and then he requested that Jon to lay her to rest beyond the Wall.

So with a weighty heart, Jon would do just that.

He'd take his lover's body into the frosted trees and light her funeral pyre himself.

This late afternoon's weather in particular was nearly unbearable.

Sansa was screaming at herself now inside her mind again. She should've left the High Horse Inn so hastily! And she was always the patient sister. She should have at least worked out a more proper scheme to achieve tracking down Nymeria's pack on her own.

Her feet continued to move forward and sideways, carrying her further into the woods. She dipped around the rocks and peered into the shadows every time she heard a branch snap; though no one confronted her, and no wild wolf showed itself.

Sansa didn't know where the men were precisely. She couldn't know how successful Tanner and Ingret were at distracting them before they'd head out on their hunt.

But then she heard the first howl in a long while which whirled her in the other direction. Sansa could soon make out particular patterns on the forest floor. Seeing that mess of paw prints caused her to drop on her hands and knees and start trashing at the snow to erase them.

No tracks to follow, no hunters will come this way.

Although it wasn't much longer after that a group of distant voices had ultimately caught up with her. The ginger glows of torches emerged through the branches, down on the ledge below her in spite of her efforts trying to deter them from this trail.

So Sansa decided to shadow them instead in hopes of finding Nymeria that way and taking some form of action right at the precise moment.

The man who seemed to be the leader and main instigator of the hunting party slowed his pace, silently motioning ahead. Lingering behind a wide oak tree, Sansa saw what they were closing in on.

It was an animal's den, one definitely big enough to house a Direwolf. There were no other wild wolves around though. But Sansa knew how normal that was. Usually female wolves hide their birthing dens far off, even from the other members of their pack to protect the newborns when they first arrived. It was just a maternal instinct.

Sansa wasn't too sure even if Nymeria was essentially in her den now or not, so she concentrated hard and strained her ears.

Robb once told her that wolves could hear a human's heartbeat from a mile away.

And it worked. She could in fact hear one of the hunters murmur, "It's in there."

The archer in the group crept forward, skillfully raising his bow in a lethal stance, pulling the string taut and steady. At that point, Nymeria must have known her den was being invaded because she slunk back out, growling, her neck hairs rising up in order to make herself appear even taller to intimidate them.

As soon as the other men pulled out their skinning daggers from their belts, readying themselves for the attack, Sansa bolted up to the archer, shoving him from the side which naturally took them all by surprise. "Stop!"

Between the small wave of chaos that ensued and angry men shouting questions at her, Sansa refocused on the Dire, crying out, "Nymeria! Run! Run!"

The Dire raced off not sparing Sansa a second glance and she gained enough speed to leap right over heads of last two men running up.

In result, with Nymeria on the run, Sansa immediately became their new target. They circled her in, blades drawn, their rage boiling over. "You've got some nerve, lass. Who d'you think you are?" the lead man sneered.

"Leave her alone," she ordered them, attempting to pronounce every word strongly, like she had during her first encounter with the Hound in the open corridor.

And similar to the Hound, they didn't flinch, and just walked closer laughing, another one of them snapping out, "What it's to ya?"

Sansa tried again. "No one is leaving here with a wolf's head tonight!"

Their horrid chuckles were ringing around her in a loop and Sansa wanted to see if she ran, could she get away with it? No, of course not. She was outnumbered by them and they were determined to keep her trapped in the middle. She noticed the archer raising his bow just in time. The arrow soared in her direction and Sansa twisted her upper body, her hand seizing the tail end of the arrow before it hit its mark.

Everyone glared in disbelief. Sansa felt her confidence peak.

One man came in for a slap, and Sansa managed to grab his heavy wrist with her free hand and bent it back behind his head with ease. His strangled cry of pain caused the rest to charge towards at her all at once, but now she began was moving and slipping out between every one of their blows. They were just knocking into each other. Not only that, Sansa was actually blocking their hits too, her arms pushing on their arms, aiming decent kicks to their exposed knees in the meantime. She gripped another by his neck and tossed him aside.

Though in the back of her mind, Sansa realized this was not the warrior's way. This was certainly not how her father faced battles. This was not how she had seen Robb train with Theon or Jon from her tower window. This was now the Hound had fought his opponents for Joffrey's amusement. And she entirely sure that this was not how Arya practiced her fencing with her private instructor. She had no primary lessons or any real experience like they all did. Above all else, she never had the interest to partake in physical combat. Her own footwork right now was like nothing she'd ever known before. This was not a standard way to spar.

This—this was all reflex. It was all instinctual.

She performed a tight backflip and came to a stiff landing on her haunches, supported by her hands flat against the snow. Sansa flashed her teeth, letting out a snarl that continued to make her sound more beastly than ladylike. The men retreated back in added awe, stammering out short phrases like, "What it she?" and "Look at her eyes, her teeth!" or "She's bewitched."

And with that said, Sansa started off bounding forward on hands and legs, then shifting upright to gain force and she jumped—she jumped right at the leader, her nails digging into the broad shoulders of his vest, pushing him down to the ground with all her weight. As he fell flat on his backside, she planted a foot at the base of his throat and loomed over him.

His fellow hunters went stone silent, and time itself seemed to die off entirely when Sansa uttered her following remark, "Leave the wolves alone," cool and deadly sweet, abruptly turning back to her fury. "Now, GO!"

As a group, they all came into these woods arrogant and bold tracking down a Direwolf, and still as a group, they left these woods as jaw-slacked blubbering fools.

Sansa gathered that she definitely couldn't return to Ingret and Tanner now. Most likely those hunters were about to spread rumors about her as soon as they saw the first person in the village.

Hours later when the sunlight fully vanished beyond the mountains, Sansa converted to her old regular self again since her fears of dying out here alone too soon before her time resurfaced, and she was convinced that her lips would look dark blue if she happened to look into a mirror then.

Beyond her will, her body buckled from the growing fatigue and she sank next to a massive tangle of tree roots.

The little fire she managed to create afterwards went out on her once. Twice. She lacked that sort of skill as well, but she'd had watched her father (or Robb) do it a dozen times when they were younglings. So after mimicking the actions she remembered them doing, and not giving up no matter how tired her arms were, her third fire fortunately flourished. She was back to feeling hungry too, though she decided to save what food she kept in her pockets for the coming day.

Eventually, she tilted towards the ground, curling tightly under the folds of the newest cloak Ingret'd given her as a parting gift. Sansa knew she shouldn't sleep; she may not wake up if she did, although, it was a losing battle.

Her heavy-lidded eyes gazed at the small flames slowly turning into cinders, and she began to preform her resting ritual, inwardly repeating: Robb, Arya, Bran, Rickon, Jon...Robb, Arya, Bran, Rickon, Jon...Robb, Arya, Bran, Rickon, Jon... until the dark took her anyhow and Sansa fell into a soundless slumber.

She even didn't notice the four-legged figures steadily watching her from behind the thicket.

Petyr removed his gloves as he strolled into the High Horse Inn, looking about the dining hall with smoldering determination.

He was soon greeted properly by a dark haired woman around his age wiping her hands with a cloth; no doubt she aided to run the business. "I'm Ingret Blackenedfeather. Can I help you, Ser?"

"I am unfortunately searching for my...niece," Petyr replied, perhaps a little too firmly and unfeeling. "We were separated during our travels. Have you any maidens rooming here on their own? One that is tall and pretty. Raven hair, blue eyes? She's just barely old enough to be called a woman, I suppose. She...goes by Sansa."

The Inn's lady looked surprised by the news, but she ended up shaking her head. "I can't say that we do, Ser... Though if I see anyone like that with that name, I shall tell her you're in the area, yes?"

Petyr's features grimaced in irritation despite his efforts to hide it, and then he granted her his thanks very bluntly.

Ingret watched him go, releasing a shuttered breath. Nothing about that man sat well with her, particularly now since she knew exactly who he was looking for.

Another maiden ran through the whitening fields with the speed and dexterity most people would deem humanly impossible. She leapt right over the narrow gorges in the earth, landing directly on the soles of her feet and she stepped effortlessly over the trails of river stones, reaching the other side without getting the least bit wet from the cold current.

Abruptly, she halted in the adjacent clearing, and waited for her elder brother to catch up with her.

It didn't take long as he was only moments behind. She was only a tad faster than him because she was thinner, lighter, and a head shorter.

She sniffed in the new scents that came riding on the following breeze, and immediately got a wild gleam in her golden eyes. "Do you smell that?"

Her brother was cautious as well. "Yes. We are not alone in this woods."

Morning light broke through the thick branches twisting overhead. The last puffs of smoke from Sansa's fire were hardly visible by then.

She felt herself rousing, her thoughts rebounding back to the present, reminding her where she was.

Her lashes spotted with old snowflakes scarcely cracked open, finding the all-white sunrise above her hard on her vision.

Was this death? Was she frozen and turned to stone, lost forever? Her brow furrowed together.

No...no, I can't be. I'm awake.

Her heart was still beating. That was a comforting sign. And her limbs were stiff from lying in one position for so long. Stiffness meant she still had feeling in her muscles.

She inhaled deeply and moved slightly to stretch and pull herself up—but something was in the way—something else was very, very close to her and breathing along with her—just realizing this, Sansa forced her eyes to snap open and take in everything. The wolves—the wolves were sleeping there, serenely—cocooning her, forming a nest of warm fur around her. They must have come to her sometime during the night. This was why she didn't freeze overnight. They had saved her from that fate.

Sansa sat there half-propped on her elbows, unsure what to do or say now she was awake and in their mercy. None of these wolves were Lady; it wasn't as if she could simply command them to do anything...right?

Sighing deeply, her gaze had lifted to the center of the clearing suddenly. Nymeria herself stood there proudly, as if she was waiting for this. She also held what appeared to be a bloodied hare between her teeth.

And without another word from Sansa or a bark from Nymeria, the Dire sauntered up and deliberately dropped the dead hare into Sansa's lap, nuzzling it shortly.

Sansa, amazingly enough, was far from being disgusted at this, for her own primal instinct told her precisely what it was for.

Breakfast.

She beamed up at Nymeria in appreciation, giggling. The Dire's ears perked forward at the contented sound...and if Sansa wasn't totally wrong, she could've sworn that she caught a minor wag of Nymeria's tail.

Sansa had the feeling that out here, she would never go hungry again.

P.S.

Anyone happen to read the article 21 Times Sansa Stark Was The Smartest "Game Of Thrones" Character? It's great. Those 21 snippets are EXACTLY why I love Sansa while everyone else out there seems too busy hating her still.