Mid February, 299 AC
Sansa awoke shivering. Her naked skin pressed against cold stone, her arms clutching her knees to her chest. Was this how she'd slept in her mother's womb? I want my mother. Sansa wept silently, her tears dripping onto the floor of the cave.
A warm muzzle brushed against Sansa's face. Nymeria. Her pack sister lapped at her cheek, washing away the tears. But the direwolf's heat only made Sansa shiver the harder, her skin covered in gooseprickles. Her gown and shift were long gone, shredded by her transformation. I need clothes. Sansa whimpered as the direwolf's warmth suddenly disappeared.
Slowly Sansa forced herself to get to her feet, her limbs sluggish. Her left wrist ached with pain as she looked around. She was in a cave of pale faded limestone. The sun shone on the walls, revealing smudges of red pigment.
Almost without thinking Sansa stepped forward, drawn to the paintings on the walls. There were handprints of all sizes. A few handprints above her head were as small as a babe's. One by her shoulder was immense, as though made by a giant. There were more paintings, beyond the reach of the light…
A low whine came from the cave entrance, accompanied by claws clicking on stone. The direwolf trotted up to Sansa, a bundle of cloth in her jaws. Nymeria dropped the bundle at Sansa's feet. Her entire body ached as Sansa bent to pick up the cloth. There were smallclothes, a shift, and a faded blue gown like those worn by servants.
By the time Sansa had dressed herself, careful not to jostle her tender wrist, her senses returned. She could smell meat roasting on a crackling fire and hear people moving about outside the cave. Though none of them spoke, she could hear three, perhaps four sets of feet on the grass.
"You should take the first bit o' meat, m'lady," a rough voice said.
"Stop calling me that!" A voice hissed. Sansa knew that voice. All fear fled as she cried out.
"Arya!"
The meat was cold by the time Arya and Sansa finally let go of each other, their eyes red from weeping. Sansa wiped her eyes as she looked around the small fire. There was Jeyne, her long brown hair cut short and dyed blond. She cried as Sansa embraced her. Merissa sat by the fire, several cloth bags by her side. Beside her was a boy, no, a young man with jet black hair and blue eyes-
"Renly?" Sansa whispered, her brow furrowed.
"No," the young man replied, sullen. "M'name's Gendry, m'lady."
"He was a smith in King's Landings. The goldcloaks are after him, he doesn't know why," Arya said, grabbing a chunk of venison and tearing into it. "How'd you get out of the city?"
"I… don't remember," Sansa admitted, accepting a piece of venison from the handsome young man. It was odd how much he resembled Renly Baratheon Was he a bastard like Jon Snow? But Lord Renly could only be a few years his elder…
"Bel was the one who got us out," Merissa said quietly as Sansa began tearing at the venison, too starved to worry about her manners.
"Bel?" Gendry asked.
"She ran the brothel we were kept in," Jeyne said, staring at the fire. "Bel was told to train us, but she had us work in the kitchens instead."
"Arya found us and Bel promised to get us out." Merissa's light brown eyes were focused, and she sat straight, not crumpled into herself as Sansa remembered.
"The day before we were supposed to leave was the day they…" Jeyne swallowed.
"The day they killed father?"
Merissa nodded at Arya.
"Bel sent Shadow for you the next day, but he came back alone. She sent out Shadow again and again, and on the fifth day she said we'd waited long enough. That was the night the red wolf came."
As Sansa ate her venison Merissa and Jeyne told the story in turns.
Softpaws had appeared just before sunrise, strolling up to Bel as she finished a song. While Bel kept the guests occupied, Jess and a short young woman named Nettles followed Softpaws to the injured red direwolf.
Jess and Nettles were the ones who had tended Sansa's wrist. It seemed Bel came from a people in Dorne called the orphans of the Greenblood. Septa Mordane hadn't discussed Dorne much, but Arya always begged for tales of Nymeria, the warrior queen. The orphans were descended from the Rhoynar, the people Nymeria had brought in her ten thousand ships. They lived in boats on the Greenblood river, and they were skilled in singing, dancing, river craft, and healing.
Bel had taught Jess and Nettles all she knew of healing. Even with Bel's best efforts, whores still received injuries from their guests, or from simple accidents. A sprained wrist was not so different from a sprained paw, or so Nettles told Merissa as she showed her how to wrap the bandages.
By sundown the city bells were ringing for the dead boy king and goldcloaks searched the streets promising gold for word of a highborn maid with red hair and blue eyes. It hadn't taken Bel long to make the connection between the red direwolf and the missing girl.
Fortunately, Bel's plan did not require much changing. They waited for a dark night, then Nettles dyed Jeyne's hair and smuggled the girls out of the brothel in a cart of empty flour barrels. Meanwhile, Jess led the limping direwolf down back alleys to the riverfront and onto the waiting ferry.
The poleboat was manned by one of Bel's cousins, a friendly young man named Naet. He saw them safely to the other side of the Blackwater Rush, and left them there with the supplies packed by Bel and Jess. It was there that Nymeria and her pack had found them.
After that there was little to tell. The wolves led them through the woods at night, keeping them away from the kingsroad and villages. Nymeria brought them meat to cook, and nipped at Sansa's haunches when she fell behind. They had been traveling for near a moon's turn when Sansa collapsed.
With Nymeria's help Merissa and Jeyne dragged the red direwolf into the cave. Arya and Gendry had found them while the red direwolf slept.
"And that's all," Merissa concluded. "We've coin, spare clothes, a little food. Oh, and one more thing."
Merissa opened one of the bags beside her and dug out a small jar sealed with cork.
Sansa frowned as she ran her hand through her newly brown locks. It felt wrong to lose her Tully hair, but… her hair was the same color as Arya's now. The same color as father's. She sighed, trying not to think about why dying her hair was needful.
While Sansa sat by the cave entrance, exhausted, everyone else was busy. Gendry smothered the fire so the smoke wouldn't attract attention. Arya saw to the horses she'd brought. Merissa and Jeyne gathered piles of leaves and spread them on the floor of the cave. There was a cool chill in the air. Winter is coming. Had the white ravens flown yet? Was Maester Luwin preparing Winterfell for autumn?
Nymeria, guard, Arya said as she walked up to the cave. Nymeria whuffed, amused. She'd been guarding her pack sister just fine without the fierce girl's help. The direwolf growled to the smaller wolves. Half formed a ring around the cave entrance, then melted into the underbrush. The others slunk away into the trees, some to the stream for water, some to seek out prey.
Arya leaned against the cave wall beside Sansa. It was strange to see Arya with her head roughly shaven, stubbles of hair growing back unevenly.
"So, you were a wolf for… a month?" Arya asked. Sansa nodded wearily.
"As time went on, I could barely remember myself. Every time I tried, all I could see was father kneeling as Sir Ilyn took Ice-"
Tears dripped down Sansa's nose, and dimly she realized Arya was crying too. She held her arms out, and Arya curled up inside them.
"He knew," Arya sobbed into Sansa's shoulder. "I tried to get to him, but Yoren grabbed me-"
"They'd've killed you, m'lady," Gendry said. His black hair was plastered to his head, the sign of a quick dunk in the stream nearby.
"He's right," Merissa said softly, laying cloaks on top of the pile of leaves. "It wouldn't have done no good."
Jeyne said nothing. Instead, she lay on the cloaks and curled up on her side, her soft brown eyes shining as she began to weep. Arya stood up, roughly scrubbing the tears from her cheeks. With a sniffle she wrapped herself around Jeyne's back. Merissa lay down in front of Jeyne, the girls wrapping their arms around each other. Yawning, Gendry stepped toward Arya, then froze.
"Sorry, m'lady," he said, bowing awkwardly to Sansa. Gendry turned away and lay down alone by the cave entrance. The muscular boy shivered as the cold breeze danced against his tunic.
"Don't be stupid," Arya grumbled, her face buried in Jeyne's short blond hair. "It's too cold."
Sansa bit her lip as she looked at Gendry. It was cold. There was no one here to see, no septa or ladies. Besides Arya, technically. But she wouldn't tell. Wordlessly Sansa reached out a pale hand to Gendry.
And so Sansa slipped into sleep, the smith's strong arms around her stomach and her little sister cradled in her arms.
