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Chapter Text

It's the sudden heaving that had the darkness disappearing from her mind. The bile burnt up her throat and out her mouth as she coughed up sea water. It's painful and hard to breathe. Hands digging into the ground, Sansa found the strength to pull herself up onto trembling arms so she could bow her head down and get rid of the ocean from her body. Tears were pooling in her eyes as she struggled to breathe through the hacking and vomiting. When she finally managed to gasp down some air into her lungs, coughing subsiding but still happening in infrequent, hiccupping, intervals, Sansa tried to re-orientate herself and take in her surroundings.

Under her hands was a wet, gritty sensation, and Sansa pried open her eyes to look down at the fine, beige sand below her. Sitting back inelegantly onto her legs, groaning at how everything ached in her body, the girl took a look around her. A beach. The crashing sounds of the waves finally registered then with that realisation and Sansa turned around as best as her exhausted body would allow to stare out into the rolling ocean before her. It stretched for miles, deep dark blue and uninviting.

She had no idea where she was.

Her last memory was being thrown off the ship that Lord Baelish had brought her onto. They were heading to her aunt, only for a raging storm to pull them off course barely a day from King's Landing. Sansa had stumbled out of her room, grasping the wet wood of the ship, and gaping at the black clouds looming above them, her hair becoming wet in almost an instant and sticking to her face from the harsh shower of rain. She barely heard the order of one of the crew members, instructing her to go below deck before a large wave crashed into the ship, throwing her to the side and dragging her down into the ocean depths.

The sudden submergence had her blacking out.

And now, she was in an unfamiliar land, praying that it was close to home. A hopeless prayer, but it was all she could do. Staying where she sat, head spinning and throat burning, Sansa didn't know how long it took her to recuperate enough to try and stand. Sitting and waiting to be rescued would do her no good. It was even worse than King's Landing, hoping her family was coming for her. Now, she knew no one was coming for her, no one knowing she even got onto a ship after Joffrey began to choke at his wedding.

A deep satisfaction rolled darkly in her chest with the knowledge that Joffrey was likely dead now. It only lasted for a moment though, as her world span when she began to stand up.

Groaning, Sansa held her arms out to balance herself to the best of her abilities, waiting for the dark spots to flicker out of her vision. Her feet were unsteady where they sank into the wet sand, and it's a struggle to begin walking away from the shore line, limbs heavy and ungainly.

Scraping a hand through her water and salt soaked hair, it dragged away from her face and made a wet slopping noise when it hit her back. Normally contained in braids, Sansa wasn't used to it being so loose and long, hanging to her knees. It's a large weight when wet, heavy on her scalp and Sansa wished that she hadn't lost her ribbon and tie in the sea.

Her dress was also a hindrance, waterlogged and horrible to carry. At this point, walking up a slope away from the beach, she had an armful of her skirts so as to move with better ease, never minding the impropriety of how high they were hitched up. The sand shifted to tall grass in a slow transition, the dryer ground harsher on her bare feet, causing her to wince minutely. It was nothing to the beatings from the King's Guard, but still uncomfortable.

On slightly higher ground, Sansa stopped, panting, and began to turn in place, taking in the scenery. Mountains were in the distance directly across from the sea. They stood small and blue, and Sansa noted that they were at the very least a week's walk away, if she kept up the same and steady pace. To her left and right, plains stretched on for miles and miles, rolling and disappearing into the distance. It was only sparsely decorated with trees and shrubberies, and Sansa had the sinking sensation that she would sooner starve or die of thirst before someone could find her.

Biting at her chapped lip, Sansa kept looking around, a pathetic part of her hoping that some saviour would suddenly appear and sweep her away and back to her home in the North. She lingered in that fantasy for a moment, closing her eyes to picture lemoncakes, her dearest friend Jeyne, and her family surrounding her as a fire crackled in the hearth. Lady would be by her side, and everything would be better. Happier.

Then, the fantasy disappeared as a cold shiver wracked up her spine, the wet dress doing nothing to protect her from the cool breeze that the coast brought. This dress would be no help in keeping her warm, and she wished for the heavy wool of the North, where even wet you would not freeze to death. Wrapping her arms around her trembling frame, Sansa looked towards the mountains, and decided to head in that direction. She did not know much about hunting nor killing game, but she had heard enough talk from the men in her life that she had an idea of what to do. Perhaps she could find some way to survive in the wild as she searched for people. A small spark of determination flared in her stomach with that idea, jaw set and firm as she picked up her feet to begin her journey.

The land was fairly flat, until the sudden dip after some minutes of walking had her flailing and nearly tumbling down the hill, too focused on the mountains to have noticed the decline of the earth. Bare footed allowed a better grip than slippers would have, but Sansa still took cautious steps down the hill so as not to fall onto her face. Keeping her eyes peeled for anything that could be helpful, Sansa noted a tiny collection of trees, and headed towards them. Perhaps they could be fruit trees, Sansa had hoped, stomach a yawning pit of emptiness currently.

However, upon growing nearer, she spotted no fruit, and her disappointment was as heavy as her dress. But the babble of running water had her perking up, steps becoming faster at the idea of fresh water. The stream was hidden by tall grass and such like that she hadn't spotted it in her walking. She was practically running by the time she fell to her knees on the river bed, bending over and scooping handfuls of water into her mouth. It was chilled and fresh and a relief. It helped to settle some of her hunger pains, the cool water parching her dry and salty tongue. She was practically gasping for air after drinking so much water so quickly, and the lightheaded sensation abates with water in her body. Taking another scoop of water to wash her face, Sansa shook her head to flick the droplets off as best as possible and opened her eyes.

The sun was not at mid day, though it was hard to tell with the overcast, bit it appeared to be more in the late afternoon position, and Sansa thought to herself that it would be best to find somewhere to rest instead of continuing on walking, even if she had only walked for no more than ten minutes. If she couldn't find a way to keep warm however, she was going to freeze to death before starvation.

A rumble in the distance though had her plans stalling, and Sansa unsteadily stood up on the muddy river bank to glance around. To her, it sounded like a thundering of hooves. Of horses. Which meant people. She had a moment of sudden elation, before it turned to wariness, unsure if the people would be friendly and kind to her. It could turn out to be like King's Landing all over again, so Sansa hurried to duck behind one of the trees, hoping the tiny bit of forestry could hide her.

As the horses neared, Sansa peeked out into the plains and spotted three riders heading in her direction over the hills. She must not have noticed them when taking in her surroundings, possibly hidden by one of the many hills of the rolling plains. They were more than likely wanting to use the small river to water their horses going by the way their riding steadily began to slow down, and Sansa would most definitely be seen.

The heart beats in her ears were as loud as the horses' galloping, and it became frantic when the three people slowed down as she had assumed. It was like her heart would jump straight out of her chest when she took in the strangers' appearances, suddenly recalling the stories of the Dothraki, the horse riders that were known for their violence. They men wore animal skins and leather, but not like the refined style of the North, which was saying something. Tanned hide and bead work decorated their pants and they lacked any kind of tunics or jerkins. There were markings upon their skin, Sansa unable to distinguish with the distance, and prayed that they weren't Dothraki.

Then, amidst the panic that began to fill her during her assessment to the riders, Sansa noticed the men's hair was pitch black and long, tightly braided like a woman from the North would wear. Squinting through the foliage, Sansa could make out some feathers decorating their hair. It was strange to see such length on men, and Sansa was too embroiled in discerning their clothes for any details that may hint to them being Dothraki - not that she knew what Dothraki wore or looked like - that it took her a long time to spot the weapons on their body. A long enough time for them to feel her staring and halt sharply in their approach and dismounting.

Stumbling back in fear, the urge to flee taking hold, her skirts got caught on a bush and she tripped back into the river with a cry. It went up and over her head, and Sansa flailed to break the surface, gasping sharply as she rose above the waterline only for her hands to slip on the bed of the stream and she fell back in. The water soaking her wasn't as shocking as the sudden impact of her back onto the rocks below. Splashing about, Sansa managed to get her arms up and under her, pushing herself into a sitting position. Just in time to freeze at the arrow head leveled at her face.

It was like her world narrowed down to the tip of the arrow head and Sansa only saw the throne room again, Joffrey leveling his wretched crossbow at her kneeling figure. Swallowing, throat now dry and body shaking, Sansa slowly dragged her eyes up to meet the wielder of the bow.

The archer's eyes were a deep, dark brown, nearly black. The skin of the man was unlike the kind she had seen in Westeros. A deep red-bronze colour with stern frown lines around the mouth. A nose more prominent than Sansa's and she was terrified of the calculated suspicion in his gaze. Then, when he began to speak, it was the tone that struck her first, before she noticed the unfamiliar language. Though it was harsh and demanding in his voice, the flow of the language was like waves of the sea, a rise and fall in the cadence.

“Who are you? Why were you watching us?”

But no matter how musical it sounded, Sansa could hear the threat despite the lack of understanding. Stuttering, Sansa tried to reassure him, “I-I'm sorry! I wasn't going to try and attack, or-or doing anything, I promise!”

One of the other men then came forward, still eyeing Sansa cautiously, and placed a hand on the archer's arm. Pushing it down and murmuring something soft under his breath, the weapon was steadily lowered and the three men eyed her curiously. The second man, the one who had her relaxing when he directed the arrow away from her face, spoke. He had a lower baritone voice, much lower than the first man, and seemed older, going by the faint crow's feet in the corners of her eyes.

“Do you understand us at all?”

Helplessly, Sansa shook her head, “I don't understand.” She whimpered, and couldn't help the desperate tears that sprung in her eyes. She was cold, alone, hungry, and afraid. She didn't know who these men were, where she was, or if she would survive to see the next sunrise. All she wanted to do was curl up and weep. Her body wracked with shivers from the cold and teeth started to chatter around the silent sobbing. After being dunked into water twice, Sansa was sure to get sick. Pathetic was exactly what she felt and surely looked like in front of these men.

Murmured conversation passed over her head, but Sansa could hardly listen as it wouldn't matter to her. She couldn't understand a word that was spoken.

“Girl.” One of the men barked, and Sansa jerked her head up at the sound, her eyes widening. The second man had a large hand outstretched for her to take. Eyeing him and the red paint that covered the upper part of his face, and then at the hand with trepidation, Sansa slowly reached out, and clasped it. He gripped her tinier hand firmly and pulled her soaked body out of the water easily. Stumbling, the man caught her shoulders, helping her regain her balance, before letting go and stepping away. Ducking her head down, Sansa hastily wiped away her tears, cheeks hot with humiliation, and sniffled.

“Come. We should rest here for tonight.” It was the third man who spoke, looking the youngest of the three. His hair was just as long, and similarly braided back into one thick tail. Across his chest, where the heart was, was some dried white paint in the shape of a hand. He looked Sansa over with a scrutinizing glance, and Sansa couldn't stop herself from wrapping her arms around her chest. She felt exposed despite being the most dressed of all of them.

They then left her, walking over to their horses and beginning to pull bundles and packs off the animals. Curious, Sansa watched with wide eyes, trying to stifle the chattering of her teeth and the need to sniffle. She wondered if they were just telling her to leave, that they wouldn't harm her as she went on her way.

Unsure, Sansa glanced around her, searching for where she should go. She was originally heading towards the mountains, but now that felt silly. Looking over the rolling hills, Sansa really had no idea what to do.

“Girl.” At the familiar word, something they called her earlier, Sansa snapped her head towards them. The first man, the archer, was holding up some dress or tunic in her direction. Blinking once in bewilderment, the man shook the clothing as if in emphasis. “Oh!” Sansa exclaimed, realizing what he was offering, and stumbled over to him, limbs stiff and cold.

Hesitantly, she took it from him, noticing how the men all towered above her. Besides when they first shoved an arrow in her face, they haven't shown to be a threat to her. However, that didn't mean that they might not be one later. Nibbling her lip, uncertain, Sansa held the clothing close to her body and cast a glance around the copse of trees, wondering where she would change.

The youngest clicked his tongue, an exasperated sound that drew her attention. He was crouched over a pack, eyeing her from the side as he rummaged around. Frowning, Sansa couldn't help but mutter, “No need to be rude.”

Her words drew their attention, but understanding was not on their faces. The eldest just looked amused, registering her irritable tone more than her words. Flushing again, Sansa looked back at the one at the bag. From the depths, he pulled out a blanket. It was colourful, warm shades of reds and oranges, with plain white and browns mixed in, woven into stripes and arrow. Sansa was momentarily distracted by the detailed weaving, stepping closer to look, she had to jerk her head back when the man suddenly stood up, close in her space.

Spreading the blanket out with his arms, he held it behind him, jerking his chin towards his back. Lost, Sansa flicked her eyes back and forth between him and the blanket until a hand nudged her forward. A soft yelp left her mouth as she was maneuvered behind the man, the blanket blocking her from view. There was a rumble of laughter her reaction causing her to scowl at the ground, knowing she couldn't do anything to show them her ire without possibly causing their own.

Confused still, Sansa looked at the strange dress in her hands before it clicked in her head. They gave her a change of clothes and provided her with some privacy. Smiling, a little shy at their kindness, Sansa took a quick glance at the youngest man, whose face was still resolutely facing forward and arms spread wide.

Assured that he wasn't going to look, Sansa began to hastily strip off her sodden clothes. The purple dress that she had worn to the wedding - and the only one that Sansa has as she had no other change of clothes on the ship - fell to the ground with a wet flop. Sansa then proceeded to struggled with getting her numb fingers behind her to work at tugging at the lacing of her corset. When it loosened enough, she shoved it down her legs, relieved at being able to suck in deeper breaths of air. Lastly, she was in her shift and bloomers. Sending another uncertain glance behind her, the girl pulled the shift up and over her head then shoved the bloomers down just as quick.

It was both cold and warm all at once. The relief of being out of wet clothes was wonderful, but the sudden chill to her bare skin had her hurriedly pulling the strange dress over her head, very much aware that she was standing naked outside. It was made of deer-skin. Soft hide and fur with fringing along the chest and arms, as well as fine beading detail. It was massive on her, obviously meant for a man, and one much larger than her. It fell to her knees, luckily covering her modesty. But it was warm and dry, and that was the most important thing. Gathering up her wet clothes, she turned to the man, still standing firm and facing away from her. Sansa cautiously reached up and poked in between his shoulders, “I'm finished.” She announced softly.

After a pause, he hesitantly glanced over his shoulder at her, and she gave a nod. The younger man dropped his arms, and Sansa was suddenly shown what was happening whilst she was getting changed. A fire was beginning to crackle in the open area besides the copse of trees, horses tied close to the water.

The sun at this point was starting to sink down the horizon, a golden light over the world as it broke through some of the clouds. Whilst the archer tended to the fire, the other was unrolling some bed rolls. The meticulous and practiced movements of their hands showed that this was something they've done many times before.

Stepping closer to her, Sansa startled a half step back as the youngest man lightly wrapped the blanket over her shoulders. Cheeks warming at the gesture, Sansa made an effort not to be too obvious at how such a simple show of generosity had tears wanting to well up once again. Kindness was a lost thing for her now, and to see it so casually displayed without wanting something in return had Sansa confused on how to deal with it. The best she could muster was a smile and nod at him. He did not smile, but the nod back was enough. Watching the men as they began to set up camp, Sansa shifted, awkward and not knowing how to help. It felt wrong to just stand and stare at the strange men, but that was all she could do in the moment.

She had never heard of people like this, concluding that they couldn't be Dothraki. Not with their kindness going against all the stories she had heard of the horse men. Sansa was also hesitant to call them uncivilized just because they did not wear jerkins. Obviously they wore tops, going by the one she currently had engulfing her small body. But just not all the time it perhaps. However, going by the kindness they showed her, a stranger, they seemed more civilised than most of the people of her land.

Glancing down at the bundle of wet clothes in her arms, Sansa scurried over to the trees to find some branches to hang her clothes over to dry. Now, without the drenched fabric on her body, Sansa could tell it wasn't as chilled as she had thought, and hoped her clothes would dry by tomorrow. Once they were spread out evenly and neatly across some low branches, the girl turned back to the men and the unpacking of the camp.

Swallowing nervously, Sansa stepped forward lightly, “How can I help?” She hoped the questioning lit to her voice was enough to get what she was asking across to them. Glancing up from the fire, the archer nodded towards a bag to the side, and Sansa hurried over to it. Crouching down, Sansa held her hands over it, not sure if it was polite to riffle through their belongings and glanced up at him. He just nodded and made a 'come here' gesture. So, Sansa hefted the bag into her arms and trotted to his side, carefully placing it besides him.

Watching closely, Sansa observed as he pulled out what looked to be a water skein and waxed cloth. Peeling away the cloth, she recognised skinned meat, ready to be cooked and eaten. The man then handed her the water skein, Sansa noting the light weight once in her grasp, and then he waved his hand at the river.

Perking up at the task given, Sansa eagerly complied, happy to be of use and not deemed unhelpful. Maybe, if she showed she was useful, they would continue to be kind and take her along with them. She really did not wish to be alone out here in the wild. As they soon began to settle down around the fire, the meat sizzling in a small flat pan, the oldest handed her some kind of dough, showing her how to wrap it around a stick and cook above the fire. Dutifully watching the dough, not wanting to burn it, it took her a second to realise she was being talked to.

Glancing up, it was the youngest man. He gestured at himself with a finger and said, “Walking Crow.”

Sansa tilted her head to the side, watching as he repeated the gesture and word. Jolting, Sansa realised once more after a brief second. Pointing at herself, she replied brightly with her own name, “Sansa.”

She wasn't too sure on if last names were a thing or if it would complicate communication with them so she stuck with her first name. It also was a layer of protection, if they knew of her family name. The man nodded, repeating her name slowly, feeling out the different sounds and letters. Sansa did the same with his, trying to get his name as correct as possible. He gave a small clap of his hands after a few more tries, signaling she did well. Straightening up proudly, the girl looked to the other two men. The eldest introduced himself as “Drum beat.” To which Sansa dutifully repeated after a few mispronunciations. The last man next to her offered, “Arrowhead.”

She couldn't stop the wide grin on her face in triumph. The smile stayed on her lips even as the dough finished cooking, and was signaled to pull it away from the fire. The meat had also finished, Arrowhead beginning to pass slices of it around once it cooled enough to touch. Manners which had been so ingrained into her very being since birth disappeared as she inhaled the food with her hands. It was such a simple meal, but the hunger, on top of finally being warm and with pleasant company, made it taste like a seven course meal.

Humming in happiness, Sansa chewed her food, taking bits of the bread and bites of the meat, letting the simple but delicious flavours mix with one another. Gazing up at the sky, her feet wiggling a little with the contentedness that was flooding her body, Sansa stared up at the dark blanket above them. Stars were coming out, winking into existence, and the sparks of the fire rose up to greet them.

She couldn't remember the last time she felt this much at peace. Even at Winterfell there was always something to do, some lesson or task to complete. Even the joyful moments with her siblings had not contained the quiet peace that settled in her chest as she ate her modest dinner and stared up at the stars. Around them, crickets chirped, a soft symphony to the other sounds of nature.

“Sansa.”

Bringing her head back down to the present, Sansa looked across the fire at Drumbeat and watched as he did a gesture. Similar as when they were introducing themselves, he pointed a finger to his chest, then held out both hands, fingers spread. After, he closed them, then reopened them. Closing once more, he then held up nine fingers.

'His age.' Sansa realised. Making a sound of excitement, she quickly shoved the last bit of food in her mouth, brushing her dirty fingers on the rock beneath her bottom, and held up ten fingers for him, and then two.

She watched his eyebrows raise in surprise, turning to the other men, “A child. How could she have ended up here all alone?”

The second eldest frowned deeply, and replied with a thoughtful voice, “Her clothes were wet before we startled her into the river. And we are near the beach. She could have washed ashore.”

Humming in thought, Drumbeat chewed on some food before saying after swallowing the mouthful, “We know the beach to face another land, and with her different language, it would be smart to assume she was from there.”

Chiming in, the youngest added with a suggesting tone, “Fell over board perhaps from a ship?”

Sansa pouted as the men continued to converse over her, and commented loudly, unable to help herself, “It's quite rude to ignore someone in a conversation.” They stopped talking and turned her way. Flushing, Sansa huffed and crossed her arms, blowing a strand of damp hair away from her face, “I know we can't understand one another, but we can still figure out ways to communicate like before.”

Walking Crow then turned to the other two after a long moment of staring at her, “She reminds me of an angry squirrel.”

Arrowhead reached across her and smacked the back of his head, rolling his eyes. “Don't be rude.”

Moodily, the youngest man rubbed at his head, glaring at the fire. It reminded her of when Rickon would get in trouble when he dragged mud into the castle. Mother would scold him fiercely, the boy pouting at the ground and the tracks of dirt he brought inside.

Sadness choked up her throat, and she lowered her eyes, staring at the bright cinders under the fire. No matter how friendly they've been, these men were strangers. They weren't her family, nor were they home for her. Her home was taken by traitors, her brothers dead and buried. Arya was missing, and Sansa could only hope that her sister was surviving out there. Out of all of her siblings, she trusted Arya to be the one to survive the most. And then there was Jon, who Sansa was never close to, but hoped he was living well at the Wall, away from the war. He was still blood, her half-brother.

Sniffling as discretely as she could, Sansa threw the stick that once held her bread into the fire, rubbing bits of bark off her hands afterwards.

“Sansa.”

At the sound of her name once more, the girl looked up from under the hair in her face, this time at Walking Crow. He was holding up ten fingers, then he lowered one hand, showing five. Fifteen. He was three years older than her, and was so much stronger and wiser looking than she could ever be. Giving a tremulous smile at him, she nodded softly before looking back at the fire.

Her mood had plummeted so sharply, Sansa knew she wouldn't make good company. When Arrowhead next to her tapped her shoulder, Sansa turned tired eyes his way. Placing two hands together, he rested them against one side of his head, indicating the typical sign for sleep. At this point, exhaustion was washing over her, all the confusion and aching from being washed ashore to an unfamiliar land finally catching up to her.

“Please.” She replied, nodding and not caring that they don't understand her. But sometimes, words weren't necessary. He guided her over to a small bed roll with another woven blanket. Wrapping the one around her shoulders tightly, she snuggled under the second blanket, layering up to keep the chill away. Facing the fire, the heat wonderful on her cold head, Sansa observed as the three men began to prepare for their own rest after finishing up their meal.

She wanted to see what they were doing, curious and wary of what could happen to her whilst she was asleep. Distantly, mind slowly fading from consciousness, Sansa wondered if she would awaken to an abandoned campsite, left alone once more.

The aching of her body and a chill was what woke her up in that moment. It was silent, and when Sansa cracked open her groggy eyes, she noted that the fire had burnt down to a faint glow, the wood now ashes. Blearily, Sansa rubbed her eyes with one hand, the other used as leverage to sit up. Shivering from the early morning cold, Sansa used the second blanket as another barrier from the freezing air, and sat up. Dazed, she glanced around the campsite, slumping faintly in relief at the sight of the three men all fast asleep.

Getting up, wincing at the numbness on laying on hard ground for so long, Sansa quietly shuffled over to a small wood pile and began to prod the fire into small crackling flames, rubbing her hands together to bring warmth back to them. She had a surprisingly dreamless sleep, nothing but darkness and despite the hard ground, she was comfortable enough. Glancing up, Sansa took a quick peek at her clothes on the branches, and appeared dry but she would have to check later to be sure.

In the distance, Sansa's ears picked up on the faint sound of the ocean waves crashing against the shore, and turned in the direction of it. Where the copse of trees and small river sat, there was an incline of the land, hiding the sea from view.

Standing up and letting the blankets slide off her shoulders, Sansa felt the pull of the water, and started to trek back to the beach, feet freezing from still being bare. The wind picked up the closer she got to the beach, whipping her tangled red mane of hair around her face. Standing at the top of the hill, looking down at the beach, Sansa could feel her breath hitch in her chest.

Past the never ending sea, was her home. She was facing it, and closing her eyes, she could imagine it. Sansa could imagine the crisp winter air, snow the physical form of purity in her eyes, falling softly from the sky. A pure world Sansa doesn't think she could ever belong in now, her heart and soul so scarred and mangled now. Opening her eyes once more, the tears stung her cold cheeks at the sight of the empty horizon, and she started towards the water once more.

The waves were loud, a spray of salt water brushing her skin the closer she got, and Sansa has a mad thought of swimming back. Swimming back to show at least she tried to go home even when she inevitably sunk below the surface and drowned.

Wet sand clung to her toes, but soon washed away as she stepped into the water. Frigid, ice cold, and comforting. Familiar. It reminded her of the North, as her toes turn brilliantly, violently red. Glancing down, Sansa watched dispassionately as her feet sank and disappeared into the water the further she walked into it. Drowning seemed peaceful. They say her mother's throat was slit and body tossed naked into the rivers she learnt to swim in as a child. All rivers lead to the ocean, so maybe, she could join her mother's body under these waves.

It was up to her knees now, hem of the dress instantly soaked, and Sansa could feel the steady beat of her heart in her chest pick up at the mad thought now gripping her mind, taking hold and burrowing in deep. The heartbeat and thought was so loud, it was more deafening than the crash of the waves. It was enough to drown out the sound of someone running towards her until an arm wrapped itself tightly around her waist, jerking her up and out of the water that was up to her chest by that point.

“NO!” She screamed, the protest full of anguish as she clawed her nails into the skin. “NO! LET ME GO! PLEASE-” She wailed, her cries high and begging. It was like all that begging she stifled down whilst in King's Landing had suddenly erupted from her lungs, and all she wanted was to make a choice of her own. She wanted to die. She wanted to be with her family, with Lady. She just wanted to go home.

“-please please, let me go-” Her pleading fell on deaf ears as she was brought back to the shoreline. Her body was dropped to the beach but once freed she began to scramble away from the arm to return back to the ocean, arm outstretched only for large hands to grasp tightly to her waist. Fighting uselessly, Sansa struggled and screamed to escape their grip as she was wrestled to the ground, a heavy weight settling onto her back as she panted, staring at the water. “Please...” Her final word a whisper as she fell into wretched sobs, wracking up her body and trembling her bones.

The body on top of her stayed, but a hand came around to settle on her own which was still stretched out to the sea. It rested gently, a show of support and comfort. Sansa only wanted her mother though. "Mama..." Sansa choked out, resting her head heavily against the sand as she heaved with unsteady breathing.

The coarse sand dug into her cheek where it laid on one side, eyes open but not truly seeing the water, only her goal in mind. Her goal of sinking to the bottom and never returning, and Sansa's sobs became silent tears mixing with the sand on her face. The body on her began to speak, soft words not understood, but soothing nonetheless. They were whispered gently against her hair, the voice rumbling from the chest above her into her own.

As they spoke, Sansa began to as well, throat dry and voice crackling, “I have no home to go to. I have no family, and I have nothing. I just want to see my mother again...” And more tears come pooling out, a type of sadness that wasn't hysterical but more grieving. Mourning. Mourning like she couldn't do in King's Landing surrounded by enemies.

The weight lifted after awhile, and Sansa continued to lay where she was pinned until those hands began to delicately pull her up. Limp like a rag-doll and cheeks more than likely blotchy and red, Sansa looked up at the one who saved her, eyes feeling swollen. Walking Crow was before her.

There was a furrow of confusion and concern in his brow, frowning down at her as he brushed sand from her face, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear before he grasped her shoulders firmly. Staring up at him, Sansa doesn't think she had ever seen someone with such dark iris'. Sniffling once, Sansa looked away, ashamed at her behaviour and not knowing how to explain why she became so hysterical to him.

Glancing at the sand next to them, a sluggish idea formed in her mind and Sansa took her finger to begin to draw, sniffling a little. Simple, single lined figures of people were created. Two big ones standing next to one another, holding hands. For a second, she was going to draw one with long hair to represent her mother, but then remembered how all three of the men had long hair themselves and Walking Crow may get confused.

Instead she decided to not go into that detail, and continued to draw smaller figures next to them. Her siblings. Afterwards, she looked at Walking Crow, and saw he was watching her and her drawings intently with furrowed brows. Once knowing she had his attention, she drew an 'X' over father, then her mother and Robb. Then the two figures at the end, Rickon and Bran.

A sharp breath of realisation came from Walking Crow as Sansa spoke, nose blocked from the crying and her throat sore, “I've lost my family, and I sometimes wish to be with them.” Meeting his gaze, Sansa continued softly, “I have no home to go to anymore.”

For a long time, they only stared at one another. There was a deeper understanding that followed through and though he doesn't understand the full details, Sansa trusted that he got the broad idea. Then, one hand came off her shoulder and cupped the back of her head. Gently, he bumped their foreheads together, speaking in a low rumble, “I may not understand completely, but I grieve with you. You will not be alone in your pain.”

Sansa ached to understand the words he spoke, but the sincerity and compassion in his voice was enough to sooth the turmoil in her heart.

At the campsite, Arrowhead and Drumbeat met them with worry and irritation, bodies tense. Instinctively, Sansa stepped behind Walking Crow. The oldest of the men caught her subtle movement, his frown deepening as Arrowhead began to berate Walking Crow.

“Are you a fool, little brother? Leaving the camp without any notice, I thought an evil spirit had taken you and the child!”

Walking Crow sighed in exasperation, replying, “Brother I'm safe. I was following Sansa as she left camp. I thought that if perhaps she was relieving herself then she would come back. But after too long of a wait I followed. I thought that perhaps another traveler had found her or worse. Instead I found her in the sea. I-I believe she was trying to drown herself.” He ended his words with a terrifying softness.

There was a long moment after Walking Crow finished speaking. Sansa had heard only a brief mention of her name and a weight filled her stomach. She had a feeling she knew exactly what they were talking about. Staring down at her hands, Sansa began to pick sand out from under her nails, waiting for them to finish and make a decision on what to do with her.

“Why do you think she was drowning herself?” Drumbeat asked after a moment of silence and contemplation.

At his question Walking Crow shrugged as he replied, “I don't know. Perhaps intuition. But it was only as I pulled her from the water that really solidified my hunch. She was screaming, it sounded like she was begging, but of course I don't know what for. She tried to go back in even after I pulled her out. I had to hold her down until she was calm. Afterwards, she drew these figure drawings, and I believe they were representing her family or people she was close to. She was part of a group of seven and only two are left besides her.”

“Dead?” Arrowhead hushed out. Sansa was dying to know what they were saying around her.

Walking Crow nodded, rubbing his elbow as he frowned at the ground, “More than likely. But I don't think she has anything to go back to.”

Then, Drumbeat spoke decisively, “We will be bring her back to the tribe. From there, the Chief may decide.”

Their conversation was quick and serious. Sansa could only stand behind Walking Crow and watch, waiting her fate. They could easily just leave her there, get on their horses and gallop away. She could do nothing to stop them. She was powerless.

She was always powerless.

Her bottom lip began to tremble. Sansa tightly wrapped her arms around herself, seeking some form of comfort in this situation. She wanted to go home.

“Sansa.”

The call of her name had her close to weeping. The heaviness of the way Drumbeat said her name had Sansa resigned. Dragging her eyes up to meet his, Sansa waited to hear her fate.

He pointed at her, “You,” And then made a flat handed motion, palm facing the ground, “Stay.” Then, the last gesture was to make a circle with his finger, indicating at all four of them together. “With us.”

It...didn't make any sense to her. What was she supposed to be doing? Bewildered, she glanced at the other two, frantic and hoping, somehow, they could clarify. Arrowhead clicked his tongue in frustration, “This is getting us no where and we are losing time. Let us start packing away and then just sit her on one of the horses. She will understand then.”

Whatever he had said, the other two agreed, and Sansa watched with shattered hope as they began to clean up camp. Walking Crow wavered for a moment though, looking at her, then glancing at her bare feet. Nervously, her toes curled at the attention, and Sansa couldn't meet his eyes.

When he walked away, Sansa took a step back and collapsed on the grass. She hoped that when they leave her behind, they would be nice enough to let her keep the blankets from last night. She would rather starve warm than cold. That had her glancing up at her drying clothes and she stood back up once more to wander over to them. They were cool to the touch, but felt relatively dry. Bundling them into her arms, Sansa wandered back over to where she was before and sat back down again. The three men walked around her, barely a glance as they continued with their tasks, Sansa forgotten.

Unable to shed anymore tears, all dried up by now, Sansa could only sniffle once pathetically, curling to bury her face into her clothes.

She jolted though when a thump resounded in front of her. Straightening up, Sansa glanced at what was thrown her way and gaped at the shoes in front of her. Once again, Sansa was befuddled by the general style of clothing these men had. The shoes were rudimentary compared to the ones she had worn in the past. But shoes were shoes, and meeting Walking Crows eyes once more from where he was stood before her, Sansa watched as he gave a curt nod and turned back to packing up his pack.

Worrying her lip, and at this point the skin was raw and peeling, Sansa subtly eyed the other two men. They were busy, not even looking in either of the two youngest directions, so Sansa decided to take the kindness that was handed to her once more, and pulled on the boots.

They were massive.

But the sturdiness of the soles, as well as the fine craftsmanship that revealed the time it must have taken to make them, was enough for Sansa to not care that they did not fit. Her feet were already warming up in the shoes and Sansa could feel a shy blush rising up her cheeks. Maybe, they would be taking her with them and she wouldn't be abandoned. No one would put this much effort into helping someone, only to just throw them away afterwards.

Or well, many people she knew definitely would. Joffrey would have, and so would have Cersei. Then, Sansa tilted her head and conceded, no. They wouldn't have wasted supplies and time only to just take it away. They weren't the kind of people to be patient like that. Joffrey would have seen her trembling figure and then shoot a crossbow arrow into her stomach, if only to prolong the agony. Cersei would have just sniffed in disgust and continued on past her.

However, these three men seemed trustworthy enough. Sansa knew she was foolish to believe that they would help her. It seemed King's Landing hadn't beaten out that fragile hope from her heart. And she was foolish to think that all would be well to where ever they might take her, if they do bring her along. For all she knew, they could be leading her to a worse fate than the one in King's Landing.

Her body shivered, and she burrowed even deeper into herself. She never wanted to be tormented like that ever again. In that moment, privately in her mind, Sansa made an oath to herself that she would sooner die, than go through such pain again.

She was brought out of her thoughts at the call of her name. Quickly looking up, Sansa saw that the fire had been snuffed out and that the horses were all ready to go. Slowly, and unsteadily, Sansa stood up. She had to shuffle towards them, her boots making it difficult to walk, and made her way to Drumbeat. He seemed to be the obvious leader out of the three of them.

His face unreadable, Sansa felt her body lock up as he started towards her, reaching out. Heart jack rabbiting, she let out a sharp, fearful gasp as he grasped tight around her waist, lifting her effortlessly. In that moment and show of strength, Sansa was reminded of the Bread Riots, and when the Hound had found her before those men could rape her and tossed her over his shoulder. Drumbeat however kept her in an upright position once her feet left the ground.

Reflexively, Sansa's hands shot out, dropping her bundle, and latched onto his shoulders as he brought her up and onto his horse. She lifted her legs up so as not to knock the animal, and settled down onto the strange saddle. It wasn't like the solid leather that she was more familiar with. This was more fabric than leather, with some straps to keep it steady and the bags firmly in place.

When Drumbeat swung himself up deftly after having stuffed her clothes into one of the side bags, he reached behind her and tugged one of her hands around so as to settle on his waist. She flushed at touching a man's bare skin, but forced it down with the reality that was settling in place. They were taking her with them.

The exuberant smile that erupted from her lips was something she hadn't felt in so long. Giddy, Sansa reached her other hand around so as to clasp them both around his waist. Glancing up at the man, he gave a small nod of approval from over his shoulder, and there was a softening in his eyes.

With a nudge to the horse's side and a call of movement, Sansa's arms locked tight as they broke into a steady gallop. She had been on a horse before. There were a couple of times before they left Winterfell, where he father took her and her younger sibling out for some riding practice. Arya excelled at it, of course, but Sansa had difficulty finding some form of surety when behind the reins. It was such a large creature, Sansa hadn't known how she could be in control of it. And the horse could sense her nerves, which made the whole ordeal worse. On the way back, her father had her riding behind him and she found that much better. The rhythmic motion of the horse's gallop, as well as the firm safety of her father's back against her cheek had lulled her into a small nap. He had laughed, incredulously, afterwards at how she could have possibly fallen asleep, and recounted the story to her mother, about how she was close to falling over at one point that he had to ride with one hand, the other holding her slumped form.

Now, she was smart enough to not fall asleep again like that, and instead of tucking her face away, she held it up high. Watching as the world blurred, feeling her tangled mess of hair blowing behind her, was exhilarating. Sansa couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled from her lips as she closed her eyes and basked in the moment. It felt like she was flying.

Chapter Text

The days that they traveled held a routine. They would ride for awhile, before stopping to give the horses a break. They must be very familiar with the land, as they timed their stops to always be somewhere with water, Sansa concluded. When they would have their breaks, Sansa would climb down with her legs aching, and stumble in her large boots to drink some water. She caught their amused expressions, and the grumpy one she sent back only amused them further.

On the first morning of traveling with them, Sansa gathered her bearings, and faced towards where she was certain the sea was, and subsequently, her home. She gathered the blankets around her like before, and shuffled some feet away from the camp and stared at the land that stretched before her. Her heart ached, thinking of her home.

She was still stood there, the sun rising behind her and warming her back, when the men woke up. It was Walking Crow who came to her again, and gave her a curious look. After a moment of thinking, Sansa made a hand movement to represent the sea, adding a 'shhh' noise to reference the crashing of the waves. His lips had quirked in amusement and asked, “You are looking towards the sea?”

Shrugging, Sansa turned away, knowing it was a bit pointless. Until his hands came up to gently cup her shoulders, and shifted her to turn and face more to the right. Then, copying her, the older boy made the same gesture and said, “The sea.”

“The sea?” Sansa dutifully copied, and Walking Crow nodded in approval.

After that morning, all the mornings after, Sansa would face where she believed the sea was, and Walking Crow would find her standing there every time, and shift her towards the more correct direction. It was warming to know he was generous to indulge on her new habit.

As for the nights, after setting up a campsite, they would sit around the fire, eating some fruits or nuts that had been gathered in the day, or some of the meat one of them had preserved. Arrowhead seemed to have a small sack of flour mix that would soon be wound around a stick and cooked into some delicious bread.

And afterwards, slowly, they began teaching her little words here and there. Sansa now had a tiny repertoire of their language filed in the back of her mind. She knew water, sea, horse, tree, grass, fire, bread, and meat confidently. She also was able to shakily count up to ten, though at times she had to be prompted. There were other words and small phrases that she could repeat in her mind, but only stutter it out loud.

The language had a strange cadence to it, almost musical to her ears, and she tried her best to pronounce each word as accurate as possible. They were patient with her, gentle corrections anytime she messed up. It was wonderful.

In the time she traveled with them, Sansa began to really observe their appearances, trying to see if she could figure out just where she washed ashore. Nothing in the history and geography that was taught in her past lessons were helpful in pinpointing just who they were and their culture. She could spend hours just playing with and inspecting the beading and sewing of the dress she currently wore, fascinated by the colour scheme used. With the main material being animal skin, it was usually a neutral colour like tan or white, or even a dark brown. Then with the bright bead work over the top, it stood out quite brilliantly. Her fingers twitched with the desire to try her hand in making something similar.

The main thing was their skin colouring, having never seen such on a person. Even the Dornish, from what little she saw, did not have the same colour. The Dornish were a tanned lot, more golden than the reddish hue that the men she traveled with had. There was also the very strong jawline they all had, and not the mention their long dark hair. They had some feathers and twisted bits of leather wound into their braids, and Sansa almost wished she could find her own feathers so as to join in. She liked how they adorned their simplistic braids, so different from the elaborate styles of the South.

One morning, waking up without any aches for once – her body seemed to have grown used to sleeping on the ground – Sansa was able to sit and watch as Arrowhead brushed Walking Crow's hair. From what she had gathered, they were brothers, but not related to Drumbeat. Observing them, Sansa felt a melancholy, an aching. She missed her mother.

And speaking of hair. On the second night she was with them – and oh how she had to stifle down her own reaction to traveling unchaperoned with three strange men. Septa Mordane would have been horrified – Walking Crow had noticed her trying in vain to untangle a messy knot in her hair with her hands, and handed her a comb from his bag. He seemed to always know what she needed, and Sansa didn't know how to feel about that.

The comb was carved from some kind of animal bone going by the bleached white of the material. It was simple, not elaborate designs in the bone, but it did it's job. Starting from the bottom, Sansa began the comb through the ends, working her way up patiently. She had never let her hair become this tangled in her life, and the amount of clumps of hair she brushed out was ridiculous! After the long and arduous process though, she finally had her hair back into a neat state. The natural curls of her hair were no help when it came to containing and controlling her hair, but she loved it. Her mother had more straighter hair, with only loose waves, but stated that her own mother had such curls. Sansa had been pleased that she carried that similarity with her grandmother.

A part of her wanted to leave it loose, enjoying how it moved around her, but the part of her that still held property, made her tie it back into a tight single braid. When braided, it was a thick rope that hung to just past her lower back, and she remembered when she would swing herself around sharply to smack one of her siblings in the face. She smiled in that moment, before an ache in her chest occurred, and dashed that memory away hurriedly.

In the night, when the fire was still crackling and Sansa was staring up at the stars, she allowed herself to sink into the mourning that was denied during her stay with the Lannisters. She would think to herself, 'My family were never traitors. They were good people and they did not deserve their deaths.' She had to repeat it so many times, sometimes even out loud and under her breath as she fell asleep. In doing so, Sansa knew they three men would glance at her curiously, but secretly she was glad to have the language barrier. It gave her the privacy to finally mourn without listening ears. And when they kindly ignored how red her eyes were in the morning, Sansa allowed more of her caution to crumble away.

On the last night of their journey, though at the time she hadn't known that, Drumbeat sat her down and began to draw into the dirt with a stick. With deft movement, Sansa watched, mesmerized as a detailed sketch of someone's face was etched into the ground. The face was drawn from the side, allowing space for Drumbeat to draw out some kind of large headpiece on the head. It looked to be a portrait of a man, and the head piece was full of feathers.

Though she thought the drawing beautiful, Sansa gave a confused look at the man. Drumbeat pointed at the drawing, the eye in particular, then at his own eye. He shook his head and then made a gesture of looking down.

After nearly a week of getting familiar with one another, the pantomiming way of communication had become easier. So it took her only a few seconds to understand what he was trying to say. Do not look the man with the feathered head piece in the eye. It must be someone of power if she couldn't meet his eyes. Going by the head piece, it could be someone with the position similar to king.

As for eye contact, Sansa had noticed that they only made minimal eye contact with her. Except for Walking Crow. At first he did, only so as to make sure she understood whatever he was communicating. But that was only the first day they met. After the moment on the beach, he seemed to prolong their eye contact, and Sansa wondered why. She filed that question away with all the other ones she had, ready for when she could speak their language fully.

The galloping that afternoon became a steady trot after a long few hours of traveling, and Sansa peeked out from behind Drumbeat's broad back to see why they were slowing down. They stilled at the top of a hill, and she looked over the site of some large settlement. Large cone-like tents dotted about the landscape, smoke filtering out the top of many of them. People roamed about, tasks to complete and children playing. Sansa counted around fifty tents, though their could be more. Near them was a large wooden paddock plentiful of horses.

So caught up in taking in such a strange but enrapturing site, Sansa couldn't help the yelp that escaped her when they jolted back into motion. They headed towards the paddock first, and Sansa was unable to stop herself from shrinking behind Drumbeat's back, suddenly overcome with wariness and uncertainty at new people.

The man glanced back at her but said nothing. However, he did give one of her arms around his waist a reassuring pat. Letting out a shaky exhale, Sansa had to believe everything would be alright. Her sanity wouldn't allow anything else in fear of breaking.

Coming to a halt at the paddock, the men swung themselves off their horses, exposing Sansa to the people who had come to greet the men. It was only two women, one who had stepped close to Arrowhead to give him a tight embrace, whilst the other had begun to step up to Walking Crow's horse.

“Who is this?” The woman who had greeted Arrowhead asked, and Sansa had an inclination to what she was asking.

Arrowhead looked over at Sansa, who was still sat on the horse, unsure, and replied, “This is Sansa. We had found her on our journey back, alone and washed ashore.”

“Are you taking her to meet the chief and elders?”

Drumbeat then spoke up from where he stood holding his horse's reins, “Of course. But first we must settle our horses.”

The second woman then joined in, “I can do that for you. Best get her to the chief before someone goes running at a red stranger in the tribe.”

All eyes then turned to her, and her face heated up at the attention once more. Staring very firmly down at her hands, she swung her leg over and hopped to the ground. By now, she had dismounting down pat. Though so used to stirrups, Sansa still needed Drumbeat to help her up.

Sticking close to the man's side, Sansa held close the bundle of items that have become hers and kept her eyes firmly away from meeting anyone as they passed through the encampment. The bundle was the two blankets with her dried dress, corset, and shift folded as neatly as possible into the blankets, with her bloomers put back on after they had finished drying. She also had a few pretty rocks she had found as well as what Arrowhead told her was a magpie's feather, tucked inside. She had a tiny bit of hope at possibly using that feather to adorn her hair, if given the chance.

As they made their way into the campsite, Sansa could feel the stares heavily on her, and ducked down even more, watching the way her too big shoes moved with her feet. A tiny, insecure part of her wanted to take Drumbeat's hand, seeking the steady security that he had become for her. In her mind, her memories flashed of a time when she held her father's hand around Winterfell. Then, it disappeared as quickly as it arrived. She withheld from acting on that urge, feeling it to be inappropriate.

Far into the settlement, they arrived at one of the cone like tents, and Sansa, now up close, could see it was made of layers of animal skins. There were large wooden poles sticking out from the top, and it seemed that there was a fire going on in the inside. They paused for a moment, and Sansa chanced a glance up at Drumbeat. The man, after a second, looked at her with an unreadable expression. Then, he sat a large hand gently against her shoulder blades. Another gesture of reassurance.

When they entered, Sansa ducking in after the older man, heat was the first thing she registered inside of the tent. A type of warmth she had felt in the winter times in the North, settled under her furs with a fire roaring in the fire place. Then, after her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, the next thing Sansa noticed was the people sitting before them. All were older than Drumbeat going by the amount of wrinkles on most of them. Though, perhaps not as old as Old Nan was.

There were four elder women on either side of the man in the middle. The man who had a feathered head dress. So caught up in observing them, Sansa only realised she was making eye contact with him before quickly adverting her gaze.

“And who have you brought before me, Drumbeat?” His voice was deep, like the sound of rolling thunder, and Sansa felt her hands beginning to tremble. That did not sound like a happy voice.

Sitting steadily by her side, hands relaxed against his knees where he sat crossed legged, Drumbeat replied calmly, “A child, chief Black Deer. We had found her near the beach across from the Blue Mountains. From what we have gathered, she washed ashore in some kind of ship wreck, and that she may have little to no family to return to.”

The man hummed low and thoughtfully, “So you have brought a stranger into our home.”

Just behind her, the youngest of the men suddenly burst out with a fast string of words, “She would have died within days without our help, chief. She even tried to drown herself-”

“Walking Crow.” Drumbeat sharply cut in, stopping Walking Crow from continuing. Abashed, the young man closed his mouth and looked down at his lap. Sansa had turned her head when he had started speaking, shocked. She couldn't help but keep her gaze on him, even after he ducked his head down. Sansa wished to be able to understand them, wanting to know what this boy had said to earn such a harsh tone.

“Drowned, you say?” The questioning rumble of their leader – as Sansa had easily figured out – brought her facing forward again. 

Drumbeat gave a slow and firm nod, “Yes, chief. I believe she is grieving the loss of her family still. She...cries at night.”

A silence filled the tent, heavy and thick and Sansa desperately wished, not for the first time, she knew what they were saying.

“What is her name?”

A hand settled on her shoulder, and Sansa glanced up, looking at Drumbeat. He pointed at his chest and then at the elders. Blinking, Sansa recognised the gesture as a 'you', 'me', or 'name'. In this context, Sansa assumed he meant name, so she looked at the elders, eyes adverted to their chests or shoulders, and bowed her head from where she sat.

“Sansa Stark.” She bit her tongue from saying the habitual 'my lord', as she did not know their actual rankings, and that it would just add to the confusion.

One of the women shifted after she spoke, leaning forward and saying with a thick accent, “You Westeros?”

Instantly, her head shot up and met the elder woman's eyes, uncaring of what she was told at finally being understood. “You speak westerosi?”

She nodded, “Little. For trading.”

It was enough for Sansa to grasp as a life line, “My name is Sansa Stark of Winterfell. Do you know anything about it?” It was said with such desperation that Sansa would have normally felt ashamed at such a blatant display of weakness.

“No.”

Sansa wilted, knowing that it would be pointless to ask, but she couldn't help it. She wanted to know of any news, but with the lifestyle they lived, and not knowing how far from Braavos or Essos they were, Sansa should have known that they hadn't even heard of Winterfell.

“Family? Do you have any?”

She curved into herself even more, and just shook her head, staring at the dried grass scattered across the blanket on the ground, “My sister is missing. My half-brother is bound by oath. He can't help.”

“Other family?”

“Dead. They were all killed by enemies of my family.”

The woman sat back solemnly, “I see.” Then she turned to the man with the feathers, “She is without parents or family. Enemies of her family have killed them and her last two relatives are missing and...oath bound, I believe she said.”

“So her life is now in our hands.” The man seemed to conclude.

She had been glancing back and forth, trying to follow to conversation purely through tone of voice in the begging, and was really starting to hate not being able to understand what was happening. Especially when it pertained to her own fate. But now, she was just exhausted and wanted to sleep for a week.

“Sansa.” The elder woman then said, drawing the girl's attention away from the ground. Looking up slowly, Sansa knew that this would be the announcement of what they were going to do with her.

The old woman must have seen the fear and dread in her eyes, as her frown softened. “Safe. You stay here.”

“I-I'm,” Sansa couldn't help but stutter out in disbelief, “I can stay? With all of you?” It felt too good to be true. However, the woman still nodded in confirmation at her.

It was like strings that were holding her up were cut and Sansa slumped forward, heading resting on the ground. She was clenching her fists tight to her chest, her heart racing, and the sigh of relief was almost a trembled weep. She could stay. She had no idea what it would be like, to live with them. But it a relief to know she would not be abandoned and tossed out.

Sucking in deep breaths, Sansa whispered out a heartfelt, “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“She thanks us.” The woman spoke towards the rest of the people. Sansa had no idea what she said but it did not matter. She got to stay.

Stepping out of the tent, Sansa had to squint at the bright sunlight, before turning towards the men who brought her here. They all held varying expressions of their own relief, and Sansa could only wonder at why they were relieved that she was staying. If anything, she was a burden on them the entire time.

Going to speak, Sansa was interrupted by the old woman from before who exited the tent. She sent a scrutinizing glance at the four of them, all standing near the entrance, before turning to Sansa, “You stay with me.”

Blinking a couple of times, Sansa digested the statement, and gave a single nod. The woman nodded back, and then began to walk away. For a moment, Sansa dithered between whether she was meant to follow or not, until a firm push sent her stumbling in the woman's direction.

Righting herself, Sansa turned to see Arrowhead giving her a small smile, then jerking his chin in the woman's direction.

For a moment, her chest ached. The men had been a life line for her since she arrived, and they were the only familiarity that she had here. She almost wanted to beg the woman to let her stay with one of them. However, Sansa knew she didn't have any kind of sway or power, and after giving them a grateful smile, she turned and hurried to the old woman.

The woman was waiting at a distance and began to turn away but Sansa opened her mouth the ask, “How do you say thank you?”

The woman blinked at her, and repeated, “Thank you?”

A strange mix of solemn and eagerness, Sansa confirmed, “Yes. I wish to thank them.”

Her dark eyes flickered over Sansa's shoulder before saying in her tongue, “Thank you.”

“Th-thank you?” Sansa tried. The woman nodded but gave a slight correction. Repeating it once more, and after having the seal of approval, Sansa turned and called out, “Thank you!” Waving one of her arms. She grinned widely when they all returned the gesture, though perhaps a bit less exuberant than Sansa.

Happy in her success at expressing her gratitude, she fell into step with the older woman. She was tall, not as tall as the men, but taller than Sansa. She stood with a proud posture, as if at complete ease with her place in the world. Her hair was in twin braids, just as decorated with feathers and leather strips as everyone else around her. And then, peering closer, Sansa finally noticed the lines of tattoos running over her chin. There was one thick line from the bottom of her lip to the tip of her chin. Two thinner one run on either side, and then on the outside of those, were three dots running up from the bottom of her chin. It was such delicate work, and Sansa stared, entranced, until the woman glanced at her from the side.

Snapping her head forehead, Sansa's cheeks warmed in embarrassment at her impolite gawking. Septa Mordane would have rapped her knuckles. Another memory to be shoved aside for her peace of mind.

They arrived some time later at another tent, and the woman paused to turn and say, waving her hand at the structure, “Tipi.”

Turning her gaze upwards, taking in the strange and new and wonderful structure, Sansa repeated, “Tipi.”

Entering, Sansa was greeted with layered bedrolls of furs, animal skins, and thick woven blankets. There were two cots, one on either side, with a small fire place sat in the ground in the middle. Towards the back were baskets of many sizes, filled - and some overflowing - with all sorts of objects and supplies.

Some bows and a quiver full of arrows were hung against one of the walls, along with a couple of spears leant against it. A circular, woven, and feathered creation hung over one of the beds, and Sansa stepped closer to look at it. She had her hands politely tucked behind her back, resisting the urge to poke and inspect everything inside the dwelling.

“Dream catcher.” The woman said, “Takes bad dreams.”

Nodding, half paying attention, Sansa continued to delicately wander around the home, not wanting to trip over anything, until the woman called her over to the fire. She waved Sansa to sit on one of the cots, speaking, “My name is Running Crane. And you stay here.”

Sansa nodded, and couldn't help but ask, “How much of my language do you know?”

“Hear better than speak.” Mentally, Sansa translated that to Running Crane being better at understanding the language more than speaking it. Which was good enough for her.

The woman scrutinized her for a moment afterwards, Sansa resisting the need to shift awkwardly in place, before stating firmly, “You stay here. You have tasks. Earn keep.”

Straightening up seriously, Sansa hurriedly nodded, “I'm very good at sewing and weaving. I can make clothes and blankets if needed. I've also had some experience with raising children. I...helped my mother with my youngest brother.” Sansa's tongue froze momentarily at another thought of her family, and swallowed heavily.

Reaching out, Running Crane gently took Sansa's into hers, “We grieve with you.” And the absolute sincerity in her words had Sansa choking up. Clasping both of her hands around Running Crane, Sansa bowed her head and whispered, “I miss them so much.”

Adding her second hand to the entwining, Running Crane gave them a firm squeeze, saying softly, “Cry. It is good to empty the sad from body.”

Her shoulders shook and trembled from the weight of her grief, never having faded truly despite the constant crying she had done for months. It had been stifled and shoved to only appear when she was alone and had the cover of the night time to truly despair over the loss of her family. Sansa knew that grief could fade in time, if given the chance. But Sansa was never given that chance. She had to pretend that she wasn't upset over the betrayal and murder of her family. She had to pretend, knowing that the Lannisters knew she was pretending. A sick game to torment her mind along with the torment to her body.

Sansa doesn't know if she could ever show how truly grateful she was to these people. These people who offer their words with such honesty like she had never known in King's Landing. These people who offered their fire and clothes and food and support. It couldn't have been more than a week, but in such a short time, they have given her more than she had in the year with the Lannisters.

Later, when Sansa had washed her face and Running Crane showed her where she could bathe herself, a secluded creek, the woman gave her some new clothes to dress in. The fit was much better than Arrowhead's, however Sansa missed the largeness of the clothes. She had liked how they engulfed her body like a warm hug. The new clothes had a wrap skirt and a long dress to go over the top. It had the same lovely bead work and fringing, all made from animal skin and what looked to be thick wool lining.

Sansa soon then met the older woman's daughter, Fawn, after she had been settled into the tipi for around an hour. Sansa was a little bewildered, thinking the woman to be old. A little too old to have a daughter that age. Maybe she had understood incorrectly? Either way, Fawn was the other occupant in the tipi and Sansa would be sharing a cot with her. She was two years older than Sansa, her hair in twin braids too, and had a beaded band wrapped around her head. It was a fashion she had seen in her walk through the settlement.

She too stared at Sansa curiously, before turning to her mother to ask, “Is this the red stranger many are talking about, grandmother?”

Running Crane nodded and replied, “Yes. She will be living with the tribe now, as she has no where else to go. Her name is Sansa and I will need your help in settling her into the tribe.”

She sent her daughter a firm look, to which the other girl nodded seriously, “Of course grandmother.”

Then she stepped closer to Sansa and gave a tiny smile. Shy, Sansa offered a curtsy in greeting. It was a little awkward interacting, as neither of them could speak one another's language and Running Crane left after they got themselves acquainted, stating she had tasks to complete.

It was strange to be in another girl's presence alone again. Sansa had been around Myrcella after she had been taken as a hostage, but never without the watchful and distrusting eye of the girl's Septa. However, though communication was a problem, that hadn't stopped Fawn from beginning to chatter, taking Sansa's hand and dragging her out of the tipi. Bewildered but no less curious, Sansa allowed herself to be tugged along, listening to the nonsensical words to see if she could pick out any of the words she had been taught on the journey here.

The other girl pointed out certain things, and seemed to be telling Sansa how to say them, but she did not have the same slow teachings that the men or Running Crane had. It wasn't to say she was being rude, she just didn't seem to understand that lesser words and drawn out syllables were easier to understand than the fast talking. However, Sansa didn't care. She had plenty of time to learn, and just decided to enjoy being in another girl's presence, smiling and holding tight to her warm hand.

“Sansa!”

At the call of her name, both girls turned to see Walking Crow approaching them, a bundle in hand. With a small inhale of surprise, Sansa hurried up to him, having completely forgotten about the small things she had collected.

Stopping before him, Sansa grinned up at him as she took the bundle, “Thank you, Walking Crow.”

“I figured you would want the blankets you stole from us back.”

Behind her, Fawn giggled, amused at whatever teasing words he had spoken, and Sansa pouted. “Don't tease me like that. I may not know what you said, but I can tell when I'm being mocked.”

Walking Crow just gave a tiny grin in response, then reached out to pat her head. “Be good to Running Crane.” Then peered over Sansa's shoulder to loudly whisper to Fawn, “She looks like an angry squirrel when pouting.”

Fawn burst into a fit of giggles, but eased the teasing by stepping up next to Sansa and gave her shoulder a gentle nudge. Hugging her bundle to her chest, Sansa gave a small, shy smile back in return. They didn't seem to be malicious in their words. More comradely than anything else. So, Sansa tried to stay positive and waved Walking Crow goodbye when he left.

That evening, after a small meal inside the tipi with the two females, Sansa showed Fawn the dress she wore when she washed ashore. Running Crane quietly sat back and watched as the girls giggled with one another, language no longer a large barrier for their new friendship. The other girl 'ooh'ed and 'ahh'ed at the fine detailing and fabric. Though stiff from the way it dried incorrectly and from all the salt from the sea, Sansa helped her into it. First she pulled the shift over the other girl's body, then helped lace the corset on. Fawn stumbled a backwards a bit at the first pull of the strings, and muttered something under her breath.

Sansa privately smiled to herself, knowing that a corset took sometime to get used to. It didn't take your breath away completely, but there was a different way to breathe when wearing one that's for sure. When the dress was finally pulled on and tied into place, Fawn giggled brightly and twirled around in the tipi as Sansa laughed along with her.

The purple fabric did wonders against her darker skin tone, whereas Sansa sometimes felt washed out in purple depending on how sick and pale she felt that day when in King's Landing. Sitting back on her legs, Sansa smiled something that pulled at the sadness in her lungs, making it hard to breath. Dressing up was something her and Jeyne did together. It was something she wished she could have done with Arya.

Unbridled, tears began to fall from her eyes, and Sansa couldn't stifle the hitch of her breath. The last week had been filled with too much change and Sansa could only briefly recognised this as shock as a heavy, heaving sob escaped her chest, resounding through the tipi. Startled, Fawn stilled in her twirls, and hastily moved to her side. Sansa had her face in her hands, ashamed of the show of fragility as Fawn began to frantically speak, “What's wrong? Did I do something-Grandma what's wrong? Why is she upset?!”

Through her fingers, Sansa could see how the older woman came over, bracketing Sansa between her and her daughter. Unwillingly, Sansa flinched at the sudden contact, and more tears escaped her. Her hands moved down to cup her mouth, not wanting to hear the sound of her grief.

There was a hesitant hand that settled on her head though, and when Sansa only whined pitifully and leant into the contact, desperate for the touch of a mother, Running Crane, began to stroke her hair. Softly, she replied to Fawn, “She is sad, little one. She has lost her home and family. Tears will be a common sight to see for us now, I believe.”

Fawn stared wide eyed, before reaching up to Sansa's face, gently tugging her hands away to cradle them in hers. Her darker fingers rubbed soothing circles into Sansa's palms and all she could do was continue to cry, overwhelmed by the gentle care and comfort. “Is there anything we can do?”

“Support and care is the best course to steer towards. Do not shame her for her sadness. The spirit must release it in order to heal.” The hand moved from her hair, and Sansa was soon tugged close and into Running Crane's embrace. She smelt of smoke, musky furs, and fresh soil. Unfamiliar, but no less comforting. Melting into the hug, Sansa's weeping became silent, shoulder trembling sobs.

Shifting closer, Fawn leant up against Sansa's side, still grasping tight to the red head's hands. “Of course, grandmother.”

The amount of contact she had experienced whilst in King's Landing that wasn't something done out of malicious intent was barely existent. Sansa remembered Shae, and her rough but no less kind hands as she dressed Sansa for the day. The brush of their shoulders when they moved about her room and bumped into one another. The hug Sansa got after she started her period. It was only small instances that to suddenly be engulfed like this was almost too much. But Sansa did not want to escape it.

Chapter Text

Sansa felt adrift the next few weeks after the first night there. She woke in an unfamiliar place, sharing a bed with someone she had only just met and felt so lost. Granted, Fawn had not shown an ounce of hostility or underlining darkness in her person, so Sansa did not feel that uncomfortable to be sharing a bed with her. In fact, what was the problem was that it wasn't Jeyne. It felt like she was replacing her dearest friend. It felt like a betrayal.

'What's one more?' Sansa thought derisively at herself.

She had crawled out of the cot slowly that first morning, not wanting to wake her or Running Crane, and her eyes caught onto the tossed aside bundle of her clothes from last night. After Sansa had managed to calm down enough to be coherent, she helped Fawn out of her old clothes and haphazardly bundled them in a pile. It felt strange to do so, so used to treating every piece of her clothing with care for years. But this dress only brought terrible memories with it, as well as stirred up ones that made her heart ache to the point she couldn't breathe.

Before leaving the tipi, she brought it with her. Sansa had caught sight of a larger, communal bonfire yesterday during the haphazard tour, and that was where her feet carried her. Before Sansa allowed second thoughts to creep into her mind, Sansa marched up to the low, crackling fire, and threw the crumpled dress into the flames.

Watching the way the expensive fabric flicker and catch alight, Sansa had this tug of grief and satisfaction in her chest. A dress given to her by Tyrion, her husband. An enemy. A kindness but still a cursed dress. She wanted to be free of the Lannisters. She never would be. Not after the scars that they carved into her body and her soul. Not after they slaughtered her family, leaving it a broken and shattered mess like her innocence. But this last physical object that tied her to them was now burning into ashes, and Sansa had a ridiculous hope that they saw the smoke, and would know that Sansa had done this.

Staring so long into the fire, Sansa only just heard the rustling of footsteps on grass before someone spoke her name.

Her body was a ghostly thing, moving but not really there. And she turned like an animal called by it's name. Seeing but not, Sansa was met with the sight of a frowning Drumbeat. His stern brow showed concern and Sansa did not know what to do or say. How could she explain the gargantuan grief that consumed her daily, never to escape the giant grip that squeezed the air from her lungs and made her fragile heart beat too hard in her chest? Everything always felt too much and not enough.

Holding a hand out slowly, Drumbeat patiently waited for her to take it. Gazing down at it, Sansa could see the wrinkles and callouses of a man who worked hard. She could feel the softness of her own and wondered how she could ever compare to the people here. Even Fawn, who was only a few years older, had calloused hands, making Sansa feel weak and unworthy.

However, Sansa was greedy and starved of any kind of affection and soft touch. Like a beaten animal, she would lick the hand that fed and pet her, desperate for a home. Desperate for some love. So she reached out, and took his hand.

So small in comparison, memories resurfaced like a persistent ache, never truly gone but fading if you did not think about it. But Sansa couldn't help thinking about her memories, comparing kindness with kindness. His hand was like father's, as he helped her up when she tripped one day. So sure and strong and seemingly impossible of being destroyed.

But Sansa knew better now. Anyone could be destroyed. Even the strongest of men can fall.

With his guiding hand, Drumbeat led her away from the camp, up to the hill where Sansa first saw the settlement. From there, he directed her to where to face, and stated softly, “The sea, Sansa.”

There were only forests and creeping rocky cliffs from the beginning of the mountain range in her view. But Sansa closed her eyes, and imagined the crash of the sea upon the sandy beach. Her tongue tasted salt and she could hear a creaking of a ship, taking her home. It was enough to cause her once thought too dried out to cry eyes, to begin to sting with tears.

“I want to go home.” She whispered, agony overflowing. Knees weak, Sansa crumbled down to the ground, hugging her body, and cried, “I want to go home!”

This aching wound would never heal, Sansa had thought. Home was now an unattainable dream. Home was her family, whole. Home was safety. The safety of her mother and father's hugs. Home was the sound of her siblings, be it arguing or laughing together. Home was Lady's soft kisses and Jeyne's hair under her fingers as Sansa braided it.

Home was a ruin now.

She drifted that first week, following Fawn through her tasks every day, and learning how to do them herself. She worked without a conscious thought to what she was doing, only doing enough to seem human. To feel human. Many stared at her with curiosity, standing out like a particularly red and sore thumb. Typically, Sansa would have reveled in the attention, before King's Landing. During her imprisonment, Sansa shrunk away from it, not wanting to draw undesired attention. Here, Sansa was indifferent. She couldn't understand what they spoke of her, and she couldn't find it in her to care if it was good things or bad things. As long as she was left alone, she did not care.

So she kept her head down and focused on her tasks, such as making shoes called moccasins instead of worrying. Her mind was already a terrible mixture of wailing grief and silent numbness. Sometimes she felt like she would burst into tears in the middle of helping a woman with untangling a ball of yarn. Other times, it was like she was a ghost no longer haunting her body, watching everything and feeling absolutely nothing. It wasn't like this in King's Landing, though she certainly felt this way at times in that prison, but Sansa supposed her mind was so focused on what was around her, on survival, that she couldn't give herself that chance to just fall into her grief. But now, Sansa felt secure enough that no one would hurt her if she didn't pretend that she wasn't miserable.

When taught new words, Sansa struggled more than she had before, unable to concentrate, too tired and too wrung out like an overused rag. She could see the glances sent by Fawn and Running Crane, and guilt always filled her like an over flowing pot with how much a burden she must be. But she tried, she really did.

It only came to a head when three weeks in, some of the girls her age came up to her when Fawn had quickly run off to perform a task, leaving Sansa alone with mending some clothes. She was sat near the communal fire, finding the bustle of the settlement around her soothing to her dreary mind. It was like Winterfell in a way, everyone with chores or duties, some stopping to chat with one another. A friendly place, always in motion in the day light.

At this point, Sansa knew numbers up to thirty quite confidently, along with colours, some simple emotions, and small phrases and connective words. The girls that came up to her were speaking in hushed, excited giggles, and a longing for that familiar female friendship she once had with Jeyne tugged on her chest. It didn't make her cry so much anymore, but it kept her mood dark and melancholic for the rest of the day.

One of the girls came up to a bewildered Sansa and said, “Do you know how to say you're sad?”

It took her a moment to piece the string of words together, as well as find the right words to haltingly reply, “Yes. I am sad.”

“What about, 'I am a foolish outsider?'” The girls behind her burst into louder giggles at whatever the first one said. Awkwardly, Sansa gave a small smile and shook her head. “What is meaning?”

“It's a way to say you're sad.”

Sansa frowned, something in her gut churning uncomfortably. An instinct that had built up in her time in the capital, whenever the lions around her were planning something. Darting her eyes back and forth between the wide smiles, she felt that dread building more. She recognised those smiles. That look in their eyes. Perhaps not as malicious as those in King's Landing, but enough to set the hairs on the back of her neck to a standing position. They were mocking her.

However, Sansa knew how to play this game. Whatever they wanted her to say, it was a way to make her feel lesser. To feel unworthy. It was what they did in the Red Keep, how she had to recite what a stupid little girl she was. Her eyes shamefully glanced down at her paused needlework, and bile started to worm up her throat. How stupid she was to think she could settle peacefully into this new environment. How stupid it was to think everyone would be welcoming and kind. Tears stung her eyes as she dully recited back, “I am a foolish outsider.”

At their laughter, Sansa wanted to throw up.

“Hey! Leave her alone you horrible coyotes!” Fawn shouted, coming storming over to the group of girls. At this point, they had garnered the attention of many of the tribesmen, and Sansa's face was burning with humiliation. As Fawn started to berate the other girls, Sansa couldn't take it anymore.

Shoving the clothes off her lap, Sansa was up on her feet and sprinting away from them as fast as she could before she could even think over her rash actions. She couldn't run away in King's Landing, she had to stand and take the torment. But she didn't have to here, she could when she wished to. Dodging people, Sansa ran and ran, past the horse paddock, over the hill where she looked towards the sea, and into the tall grass plains that stretched for miles.

Her breaths were wrenched from lungs, a horrible, painful mixture of sobs and the need to gather air to run. The grass whipped at her bare legs, but it was nothing to the harsh smack of a blade. She ran and ran and ran until her legs got tangled up and she collapsed onto her front. It was a build up of heavy exhales and gasped inhales, building up to let loose a wretched scream.

Into the earth she wailed her pain over how unfair it all was. How unfair she had to lose her family and be tormented by their killers. How she had to lose any hope she had and to wind up in an unfamiliar land. How she had gained a sliver of hope at being welcomed and wanted again, only for it to be crushed at the short words of malicious little girls.

How unfair it was that she knew for a fact she deserved it. She didn't want to, but she knew she did. She told Cersei, and in the end, that got her father beheaded. How she was so selfish for wanting to stay in the South, that it started a war. It was all her fault and she deserved such petty mockery. It was what she had done to Arya with Jeyne. The gods had to balance that shameful behaviour out somehow.

Arms trembling, Sansa collapsed fully onto the ground, struggling to breath as her cries turned to shuddering sobs. On her side, Sansa curled into a ball and imagined the strikes of the King's Guards blades on her skin. If she imagined it enough, Sansa could feel it all again, and knew that this was the best way to serve the punishment she deserved. Maybe, if she told Running Crane or Drumbeat about what a traitor she was to her family, about how she was such a coward, maybe then they would give her the punishment she should be taking now.

Sometimes she really wished Walking Crow hadn't showed up in time to drag her from the sea. At this point in her life, she was nothing but a hindrance to everyone around her.

When the crying became just cold, silent tears running down her cheeks and nose, a fog began to drift across her mind. So she rolled over onto her back and stared up at the late summer sky. It was blue, with fluffy clouds drifting peacefully above her, and Sansa wished she was a cloud. Barely in someone's thoughts, never really acknowledged. Life would be easier that way.

The rustling of grass drew her back down to earth, and Sansa realised her chest was burning from her sprint. A sharp ache in her throat and jaw from not being used to such exercise. But the presence of another person or creature had her blankly turning her eyes away from the sky to look in their direction of approach.

It turned out to be Drumbeat, peering down at her collapsed form. She couldn't stand the look of pity on his face and closed her eyes, wanting to block it all out. Sansa never asked for them to care. Those that cared before all died. Jory, Septa Mordane, Father, Mother, Robb, Jeyne. She never wanted another person to care, to only be stripped away from her once more.

The sensation of someone being close to her space though had her eyes cracking open to see the man sitting cross legged at her left shoulder. He sat contently, staring up at the sky, to which Sansa drew her eyes back to it as well. Their silence was the only thing that was quiet. The sounds of the world around them continued without a care. Despite how much Sansa thought it should – and how much it felt like it did – the world did not stop when someone good died. The birds sung, the wind blew, and the world continued on living despite the deaths it carried.

“They should not have made you say that.”

Foggy and drifting, Sansa couldn't be bothered to try and speak his language, muttering darkly, “Why do you even care to talk to me? You know I can't understand a word you are saying.”

“You are angry.” At his obvious observation, Sansa wanted to snark something back, but held her tongue. She knew he was only trying to help, despite how hopeless and useless it was for him to do so.

“I'm really angry. And sad. And a foolish outsider.” Sansa responded in her stupid, stilted words that she understood. The man however, glared at the grass around them, replying sharply, “Do not call yourself that. Nothing about you is foolish. And you are learning our ways, you can not be called an outsider when you have eaten with us and shared a sleeping space.'

“I don't understand you.” She only managed to understand a few here and there, but still, Sansa didn't know what he fully spoke of. But the calm, low sound of his voice, the tone that indicated that he was trying to comfort her had her heart clenching. If her heart continued to do such motions, Sansa was sure to die of a broken heart, squeezed and crushed in on itself because to the weight of her agony and grief. Time would heal. But Sansa might just die before she got to that time.

“Speak and I will listen. I may not understand your words, but I understand the pain that you speak.”

Her mind stuttered and started like a gate that was stubborn to be lifted, trying to open her mind enough to understand his words. Piecing words together, Sansa figured out the general idea of what he was saying.

Scowling mutinously, Sansa stood up with an angry start and began to drag the hem of her dress up, so full of emotions that she did not care of decorum. Pulled up past her calves to the back of her thigh, Sansa bared her naked skin to the world. Turning them his way, Sansa showed off the white, vicious scars that cut into her once perfect skin. Behind her, Drumbeat took a harsh intake of breath, and after a moment of letting him gather his fill of her battered and sullied body, Sansa released the skirt with a huff and turned back to face him, hands fisted tightly by her sides. Her face was hot with the overwhelming amount of emotions running through her, she felt it burn deep into her stomach, making her want to throw up.

Like with the grief that was once stifled and released when she arrived, it was the same with her anger. She let it burst like a horribly constructed dam as she spat, “You can not understand the pain and humiliation and fear I have felt this past year! I have witnessed by father's murder, and was to be married to a mad boy who used me as a plaything. He tormented me in front of hundreds because he was bored, or he blamed me for the war he started! And I had to smile and pretend I loved him, even though everyone knew I didn't! I wanted to kill him that first day. I was ready to shove him down the battlements and take myself with it! I wanted to die because there could be nothing worse than knowing that I caused my father's death! I am a coward and a traitor and all I wanted was to marry a prince! My stupid, greedy dream to marry a prince has caused the collapse of my entire family!” One of her hands came up to smack against her chest, clenching the deerskin dress harshly as she proclaimed, “It is entirely my fault and I can do nothing to redeem myself! I can only sit here and smile and pretend like I don't know that everyone here is looking at me like I'm a stranger! I am the red stranger! I am a foolish outsider! I am sad and angry and I want death!”

She had tried to speak his language, for him to understand. And in her heaving words, another stupid sob escaped her lips and she fell back into herself once more. All she could do is cry these days. She did nothing but weep like a pathetic little girl.

Shuffling closer, Sansa felt Drumbeat's hands gently settle on her shoulders, tugging her into a tight embrace. In her life, she got hugs from woman and girls more often then men. The softness of her mother's chest was more familiar than the firmness of her father's. She liked her mother's hugs because of the gentle comfort they brought, and enjoyed her father's fleeting ones because of the security that came with it. Like a shield around her body.

Drumbeat's felt like that kind of shield. And Sansa just wished she could see her father to scream out all the apologies she had permanently on her tongue. However, he wasn't there. So all she could weep out were stuttered and tiny, “I'm sorry, I'm sorry.” In Drumbeat's language. “I'm sorry father. I'm sorry.”

Tighter, the arms around her became at her words. Closing her eyes, Sansa imagined it was her father she was speaking to. Imagined it was him that held her close and soothed her tears. He rocked her back and forth gently, hand stroking her hair with words of comfort tumbling like water from his lips, “It is not your fault. Whatever you did, it's not your fault. You are forgiven, child. You can release that guilt.”

His words sounded so sincere, that Sansa truly wished to believe them, whatever it was he had said. Pressing her face deep into his neck and shoulder, Sansa tried to soak in the tone of voice instead, knowing that was all she could do. And in return, he continued to hold her close.

It was sunset by the time Drumbeat guided her back to the encampment, his hand a steadying and grounding sensation on her shoulder. At this point, her eyes might as well stay permanently puffy and red with the constant crying, and tried to wipe it all away when they began to entire the camp. Ashamed of her childish behaviour, Sansa kept her eyes on her steps across the trodden grass ground, letting Drumbeat lead her towards the tipi she stayed in.

At one point, she heard someone murmur her name, and after glancing through her wet lashes to see who it was, the shame doubled at knowing Walking Crow was watching her humiliating march. He was someone Sansa had come to admire, learning that he was a talented warrior and a kind boy. His facial expressions tend towards stern and smirking, but never was there any malicious intent behind them. He was honest. Good. Everything Sansa wished she could be.

Quickly, Sansa ripped her eyes from his figure, unable to meet his. Not looking back, Sansa could feel his stare on her retreating form, and by the gods, did she feel like a coward.

Approaching the tipi, Running Crane came hurrying out, wrinkled hands coming up to cradle Sansa's face. She had no choice but the meet the elder's eyes. “Oh, Sansa.” The woman crooned kindly, “Gave girls firm talking. Wrong of them. Never again.” Her thumbs brushed gently across her cheek bones, and Sansa leant into the touch with a shuddering sigh.

The unhappiness on Running Crane's face had Sansa unable to doubt her words. The reprimand she must have given to the others girls must have been a harsh one. Sansa almost wished she could have witnessed it, but that was a petty thing to think. So instead, Sansa focused on the soothing touch that Running Crane gave her.

Sniffling, Sansa nodded as best as she could with the hands cupping her cheeks, and quietly replied, “Thank you, Running Crane.”

Her dark eyes stared for a long moment into Sansa's own blue ones. After finding whatever she was searching for, Running Crane nodded decisively and took her hands away only to reach down and clasp one around Sansa's. “Come. We talk now.” Then dipped her head thankfully at Drumbeat, who gave a solemn one in response.

As the older woman tugged Sansa into their tipi, Sansa turned back towards Drumbeat, the man giving her a small, encouraging smile at her hesitant glance. She did not know entirely where they stood as a pair, but he had become someone who could offer her comfort. Hopefully, she learnt their language fast, so she could understand the advice he gave her too. A grateful smile pulled at her own lips in return before she had to duck down into the dwelling.

With a firm, “Sit.” Sansa complied to Running Crane's instructions and sat herself on the cot she and Fawn shared. Crouching at the fire, the woman poked and prodded it until it crackled back to life. Then, she sat herself across from Sansa and began, “You grieve. I understand. But it consumes your spirit, and it will kill you. You survived. You are strong. But time to heal now. To grow. Family would want you happy. Not sad.”

Shameful, Sansa stuttered out as she stared at her wringing hands, “I-I feel like I can't remember how to be happy again.”

Running Crane sighed in sympathy, and replied, “Teach you, we can. You never forget happy.” Running Crane then shrugged, “Lose it. True. But find it again.”

“Do I even deserve to be happy?” Sansa couldn't help but blurt out, looking up sharply at the woman, “It was all my fault that they killed my family! If I didn't-”

Holding up a hand, Sansa silenced her words, waiting as Running Crane lectured, “Their actions, their own. You made mistake, but you never forced their hand.”

Looking down at the fire coals, Sansa gnawed at her lip in thought, before giving a hesitant nod. “I will try my best to heal.” It was a soft, weak sounding promise. But a promise nonetheless.

Stern features softening, Running Crane stood up and took a seat next to Sansa. Bringing up a hand to stroke Sansa's hair, the older woman spoke, “To grieve, is to live. Animals grieve, humans grieve. You are human, yes? But even storm calms.” The heavy weight of her wisdom was impossible to ignore. Sansa only had the choice to believe it.

Using the bottom part of her thumb, Sansa brushed at her wet nose, trying to stop the flow of her sadness and snot. Her tears felt different this time. Less agony and anger. It was like a finality, a door closing as another began to creep open. Sometimes, Sansa wondered whose world had died that day. Her father's, or hers? Grief was a terrible, horrible, all consuming thing, and Sansa felt like she had been drowning for months. Looking at Running Crane, remembering how Walking Crow had held her close after dragging her from the sea, and seeing the way Drumbeat followed her to make sure she was alright, Sansa wanted to grab the hand they were offering her. She wanted to get out of the ocean. She finally wanted to stop drowning.

Rubbing her eyes, so sensitive after weeks of crying, Sansa gave a firm nod, meeting Running Crane's gaze, “I don't want to drown anymore, Running Crane.”

She received a proud glint in the older woman's eyes as she firmly stated, “You will swim, Sansa.”

Chapter Text

Looking at Running Crane for a last minute bid for reassurance, the woman granted it with a kind nod. Closing her eyes, Sansa took a breath to center herself, before opening them and speaking with as much confidence as she could muster, “My name is Sansa, and I am twelve years old. I am grateful for how you have all welcomed me into your home, and I will do my best to provide for the tribe so it can stay strong.”

In front of her, a sea of black hair and dark eyes looked at her in silence as Sansa gathered herself again to swallow and continue, “I understand that I am a stranger to your ways, but I am doing my hardest to learn. I have also...lost my family, and I am learning to heal as best as I can.”  She had to take another fortifying breath after that admittance, before finishing with a humble, “I would like to ask if you could continue to help me.”

It had taken around a month and a half to not only gain enough vocabulary skills to be able to create sentences that flowed well and generally made sense, but to gather the courage to speak in front of the tribe. It had been Running Crane to suggest it, stating that speaking to the tribe in their own language, would show her willingness to cooperate with them, as well as being welcoming to their culture and ways.

So she took all that melancholy and drifting thoughts, and forced them into a direction of focus. Studying hard under Running Crane's keen eye and stern lectures, the old woman taught her not only the language, but the way the tribe worked.

The man with the feathered head dress was the Chief, the leader. Which Sansa had figured out that first day, but it was nice to get verbal confirmation. Then there were the elders, primarily women, who helped with running the tribe and giving counsel. Next, was the medicine man, who was in charge of healing those who needed it, as well as the spiritual leader for the tribe. Sansa had found the man frightening, with his mask covered face and winged like cloak over his body. He walked around the settlement at times, a large bag over his back and a thick walking stick in hand.

The medicine man had once looked in Sansa's direction during the first few weeks, her soul so beaten and tired at that point, and uncaring, Sansa had made eye contact through the mask. She stared dully, before giving a soft nod in greeting and then looked away. However, in that brief moment, Sansa felt lightning suddenly run sharply down her spine with that eye contact. Afterwards, she had kept an eye out for him, curious and cautious in equal measures of the man with the strange air that blanketed his form.

What bewildered most about the tribe for Sansa though, was when Running Crane had to explain that it was matrilineal society, which was something that took many stilted words and frustration for Sansa to understand. In the end, Sansa had gathered that in their tribe, the women controlled properties, mainly their dwellings, and children were considered to be born into the mother's clan, not the father's. That was completely baffling, thinking about how many if not all the houses in Westeros would rise up in anger at the thought of women holding the family name.

In observing the families around after that, Sansa had noticed a strange distance between the men and the children as well. It seemed that they obviously loved their off-spring, doing well in taking care of them and teaching, but – after Sansa learnt the titles for different family members like uncle and aunt – it seemed the mother's brother would be more father-like for her children than the actual father.

Sansa hadn't known how to feel about that, personally wanting to have the father of her children to be more involved and looked up to. She spoke about that to Running Crane, describing how it was in her own society, and the older woman nodded in understanding. “It is like this, because we can trace a person's line through the woman more certainly than a man's. We can know for a fact that it is the woman's child than the father's. However, this does not mean that the father is hated or unwanted, some families who do not have uncles, do have a close relationship with their children. This is just the way we typical do it.”

But something that had the sensation of a rock in her stomach was when Running Crane mentioned men of the tribe who had married a woman outside of it, particularly one who wasn't even part of any of the other tribes. Someone who was from one of the Essos cities for example. The children birthed did not belong to the tribe, seeing as the mother was not part of it herself. The fathers then tend to leave, going with the women to raise the children together, not part of the tribe.

It made her think about what her life would have been like if she was Sansa Tully, her mother in charge of the household instead of her father. Looking at herself, and the tribe around her, Sansa had to come to a decision on her future, if she was to stay with the tribe forever. Would she be selfish enough to have children with a man in the tribe, only to create outcasts, never belonging to one world? They would not be welcomed by her people, Sansa knew deep down. However, the thought of marriage had her frightened to the point where she pushed that question to the back of her mind for somewhere far in the future, for future Sansa to make the choice then.

Besides the type of governing system they had, they also apparently had a second half of the tribe somewhere else. A more permanent village where that group did the farming for the year, whilst this group was the one who traveled to gather supplies, trade with the other tribes at a trading post, and hunt for the food for winter times. According the Fawn, they were currently in early autumn, meaning that soon they would be traveling back to the village to begin preparations for the winter.

However, on their way to the village, they would be stopping at the trading post, meeting with merchants traveling there, as well as the other tribes.

The tribe she lived with – or as they would say, who she ran with – were the Red Buffalo tribe. She couldn't exactly say she knew what a buffalo was, but Walking Crow's drawing of it in the dirt when she asked after a few weeks of digging up a courage to meet his eyes again, told her they were very tall and big.

The other three tribe were called Tall Elk, Many Horses, and Wild Bear. They all had names connecting to animals, something Sansa had caught onto after a month of being with the tribe. Animals and nature in general were important. She had watched as people would use every single part of an animal that was hunted, leaving nothing to waste. She had listened intently as Drumbeat explained as he showed her how to skin a rabbit, that they only hunt to survive, not for any kind of glory or entertainment. They thanked their gods for providing them with food, giving them the means to live and survive well.

To starve would lead to war between the tribes, fighting for resources. War was not a thing anyone wished for, not even the warriors of the tribe. Peace was preferred, and it had Sansa wondering if she should mention the war her country was fighting for reasons Sansa no longer really comprehended.

And so, as knowledge began to flood into her mind, learning and exploring her new world, Sansa was informed of the end of harvest ceremony, a pow-wow. It was a long night of dancing, singing, and feasting, honoring the lands and the gods, giving thanks for what the land had provided them before the winter comes. It is also where they pray for a good winter, asking for the survival of their people in the long nights ahead. And that was where Running Crane suggested that she should formally introduce herself to the tribe.

It was as the sun cast a golden glow over the land, the tall grass shimmering like a sun lit sea, that Sansa stepped before them and introduced herself. In the crowd of faces, Sansa could pick out those that had become familiar to her over the month and a half of being with them. The three men that had brought her here, always a place of safety and reassurance. Running Crane with her keen eye and depth of wisdom, as well as Fawn – who Sansa finally learnt some weeks into her study of the language was actually the granddaughter, not daughter, of the older woman – who had become a supportive friend, encouraging her to try new foods and sometimes dragging her into a bit of mischief.

And then there was Forest Water, Drumbeat's wife, who was soft spoken and guided Sansa through weaving blankets. Sansa had been introduced to her a week after her resolve to heal properly from her grief and pain. She needed something that would allow her mind to become lost in a rhythm, much like needlework had done for her. Though their clothes were heavily adorned with detailed bead work and feathers, it wasn't the embroidery that she used to do. So when Fawn had suggested, as she was wont to do, that Sansa learnt to weave on the large collapsible, vertical frame looms, the red head soon found herself under the tutelage of Forest Water.

She was gentle in her teachings, leaning more towards silently directing Sansa's hands than speaking. The woman did not talk much, preferring to enjoy the quiet and not wishing to interrupt it. A thoughtful expression was always on her face, looking at the world like it was a library of books that needed to be studied deeply.

Those familiar and welcoming faces watched with pride and encouragement as she spoke in their tongue with ease. Though it had taken many nights of repetition to get the proper flow of the syllables for her practiced speech. Running Crane had helped her in making it, making sure it was in the right tense and words were spoken correctly. It was difficult. However, Sansa was a deft learner when it came to music, and she found the language to be like a song. She just needed the sheet music and tutoring.

With her last breath as she finished her speech, Chief Black Deer then stood up and spoke, voice a rumble like a thunder storm across the camp, “We welcome Sansa into the Tribe of the Red Buffalo, declaring her a sister to the people.”

Against her wishes, her eyes began to sting with tears at his words, and Sansa hurriedly blinked them away as Fawn cheerfully skipped towards her and dragged her into a fierce embrace. “You did so well, Sansa!”

As she pulled away, Sansa grinned and replied, “Because Running Crane is scary teacher.”

Fawn giggled in reply.

The music was unlike anything Sansa had ever heard before. A chanting kind of singing, crying out their words into the night sky along with the beat of the drums. The dancers, wearing their regalia twisted and turned around the fire, sometimes calling out and joining in with the singers. They swooped like birds, and stomped their feet, rattling the metal to the beat of the drums. They adorned themselves in brightly dyed clothes and feathers, stunning to Sansa's eyes.

Watching them perform, and the way the chanting and drums reverberated through her chest, Sansa felt honored to be a part of their culture. Watching them was like watching something ancient and powerful exist in a time of non-believers.

Cocooned in her blankets to protect her skin against the chill of the night, Sansa stared in awe at the dancers. With the orange light from the bonfire, shadows were cast around the circle, adding an eerie type of beauty to the performance. Then, two children came darting towards her, calling out with whispered shouts, “Red Stranger! Dance with us!”

The oldest of the two, a girl, tugged at her hand, with a wide grin on her face. The little boy next to her hopped in excitement, unable to contain it. Smiling, though unsure, Sansa glanced at Running Crane, who nodded, “You may dance, it has past the ceremonial part, so now many are able to join in.”

The language was still something Sansa was trying to grasp, as it had only been past a month of learning. However, at this point, words were almost secondary to understanding these people, so with one last bit of doubt, soon dashed away, Sansa allowed herself to be tugged towards the dancers.

She had watched their quick, bouncing movements, her eyes keen as someone who enjoyed all types of dancing back in Westeros. Though fast, it was fairly simplistic, and Sansa was able to catch the rhythm soon enough. Both hands taken up by the children, they turned and jigged themselves around the fire, joining the other dancers in the center. The two children laughed and messily danced just off-beat, but Sansa just found it charming. After a time, Sansa found herself unable to stop the wide grin creeping up her lips, and when Fawn came darting towards them, she took Sansa's hands in herself, and swung her away from the protesting children.

Giggling together, the two girls danced uninhibitedly, and Sansa pondered over the idea of teaching Fawn some of the Northern dancers. They had the similar fast beat, more soul than precision in the dancing, which was something she noticed here. They danced to the beat and with focused steps, yes, but there was a lack of restraint as well. They put their emotions and thoughts into it, becoming wild to the heartbeat of the drums.

Tugging Fawn over to the side, so they wouldn't be in the way of the other dancers, Sansa began to show some steps to one of her favorite Northern dancers. At first, the other girl looked on with befuddlement, until she began to catch onto the steps, joyful as they linked arms and span one way, stopped, switched arms, and went the other direction. From there, it was just repetition of the new footwork Sansa had taught Fawn, before they soon found themselves joining back with the dancers, trying to fit the new style of dance to the beat. It was a bit clumsy, but Sansa was having fun, uncaring of the lack of poise or elegance she was showing. It was the most fun she had had in a long time.

After awhile of dancing, Sansa and Fawn were soon back on the sidelines, out of breath and sipping water, as they watched the rest of the dancers. The two children from before – Sansa soon learnt to be called Dance and Young Beaver - had come to join them, snuggling under the blankets at the girls' sides.

This late into the night, as well as exhausted from the revelry, Sansa found her eyelids drooping, ready to fall asleep. Staring into the fire, enjoying the way the flames moved about in the darkness, the dancers making shadows dancing along with them, Sansa caught onto a gaze through the fire and directly across from Sansa. Walking Crow was watching her, dark eyes shining from the firelight, and Sansa held his gaze. There was a softness in the Walking Crow's eyes as he looked back at her, a small fond smile pulling at his usually stern-like features. Leaning her head against Fawn's, who had her own on Sansa's shoulder, the red head smiled sleepily back at the older boy as her eyes finally shut completely.

Smoke was thick in the air when Sansa felt herself coming back to the waking world. The ground under her was hard, and going by the lack of warmth in the air, she must be outside. Cracking her eyes open, Sansa stared up in to the morning sky, thickened by the smoke from the massive fire. Scrunching her nose at the aches in her body and the elbow digging into her side, Sansa struggled to sit up with Dance firmly clinging to her waist and Fawn's head burrowed deep into her neck.

The older girl grumbled in her sleep, the top part of her body worming her way into the warm spot Sansa just vacated. Huffing in tired amusement, Sansa began to rub at her eyes just as foot steps crunched across the ground softly. Lifting her head up, Sansa frowned at the approaching Walking Crow, who smirked at her.

Pouting, Sansa wondered what teasing thing he was going to say as he crouched down in front of her. In a whisper, he said, “You want to see something?”

Bleary eyed and baffled, Sansa curiously asked, “What?”

He must have taken her tired squinting to be a glare of suspicion and smirked wider, “No need to be suspicious, grumpy squirrel, it's just a small surprise is all.”

Now, if someone said that – barring the squirrel comment - to her in King's Landing, she would immediately be on guard and delicately decline the offer. However, this was Walking Crow, and Sansa had learnt to trust him from the time he gave her privacy to change minutes after meeting. Plus, she could admit to being a tiny bit excited about what he wanted to show her.

Wiggling out of the cocoon of bodies on either side of her, Sansa ended up leaving her blankets behind to keep the others warm against the morning chill. As soon as she was stood in front of a now standing Walking Crow, the three sleeping youths immediately rolled into the empty spot. Peering down at them, the older boy let out a snort before looking back at her.

With a small nod of indication with his head, Sansa followed him through the sleeping camp, the bonfire a low crackle of small burnt pieces of wood and ash, and giving off more smoke than heat. Lightly coughing from it, Sansa hurried away from the area, making sure not to step on any one who also seemed to have fallen asleep outside during the festivities.

Walking Crow led her in the opposite direction of the horse paddock and the hill she would ritually stare in the direction of the sea each morning. Sansa gave one long look at the hillside, before following the young man through the camp towards the forest they camped some leagues away from.

She had been in this forest many times with Fawn, collecting food or wood, or sometimes they were sent on tiny missions to collect herbs for the medicine man by Running Crane. Sansa had become familiar with some of the popular trails they took, so when Walking Crow led her off a beaten path into some bushes, Sansa scowled, not wanting to go for some long winded adventure without any kind of breakfast.

However, as she opened her mouth to express her displeasure, Walking Crow halted suddenly, Sansa barely stopping herself from colliding with his bare back. How he could walk around shirtless as the temperature continued to drop over the last weeks, Sansa will never know. She herself was fairly adjusted to the cold due to being from the North, but no one from there was moronic enough to walk around without any clothes on.

Peeking over his shoulder, wondering why he stopped, Sansa narrowed her eyes, not seeing anything besides forest. As if sensing that she was going to speak, Walking Crow quickly and silently covered her opened mouth with a large hand, holding a finger up to his lips in a gesture for silence. Wide eyed in bewilderment, Sansa gave a slow nod in understanding so that he would remove the hand. Then, staying exactly where he stood, he lowered himself down gently. Copying him, Sansa continued to glance around for something in the trees and bushes around them, until a non-nature shape caught her eye.

The fur blended well with the brown bark around them, so it took Sansa a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the sight of a small herd of deer grazing. Awed, the red head stared at them, wanting to coo over how sweet their large ears were. She nearly did when her eyes locked onto the little fawn stumbling about, staying close to their mother, their brown body speckled with white spots.

Biting her lip to stifle the squeal, Sansa looked over at Walking Crow to see him already gazing at her. Leaning close, Sansa hushed out excitedly, “They're so...nice?” She didn't know the word for adorable or cute, and smiling, he offered, “Adorable? Beautiful?”

The second word she recognised and decided it was a better descriptor, “They're beautiful.”

“They are. I thought you would like to see them before the herd leaves.” Sansa smiled to herself shyly, wondering why the thought of him thinking of her had her heart beating faster. Then, a thought occurred, and Sansa hesitantly asked, “Are...they going to be hunted?” He glanced down at her with a reassuring smile, and shook his head. “No. We don't need anymore meat or fur, so it is best to leave the rest for next year.”

Sansa nodded, relieved he hadn't brought her out here to witness him hunt them. Despite knowing they treat animals with a larger amount of respect in comparison to her own people, Sansa still didn't like to see animals killed, reminding her too much of Joffrey.

For awhile, the two just sat and observed the animals in their natural state, content in roaming and eating. Sansa, despite the men having been her first contact of true kindness, hadn't truly spent much time with Walking Crow, Arrowhead, and Drumbeat. Besides those few times of comfort from Drumbeat, and idle conversation in passing, Sansa hadn't spent this one on one time. She liked it.

Being terrified of men had become a harsh adjustment whilst in the capital, that it was a slow readjustment to begin to trust that gender again. So she had never purposefully sought them out, letting them come to her when they wanted to talk. Now, she wondered if she should return the gesture, having already known she enjoyed their company from their time traveling together.

Thinking back to that time, Sansa remembered something she wanted to ask Walking Crow. Turning to get his attention, she quietly asked, slowly gathering the words needed, “Eye contact is something...important?”

He nodded. “Eyes show the spirit. To stare is to be intrusive.”

The last word had her lost, and she shrugged in confusion. Frowning to himself, Walking Crow, mulled over his words for a few seconds before explaining, “Rude. Like, someone standing too close to you and you don't know them. It could be seen as uncomfortable.”

Nodding slowly, Sansa filed that word away and continued with her question, “Why did you? Make eye contact when we meet?”

And here he actually seemed to grow hesitant, eyes not able to meet her own for once. “It's...not important.”

She scowled, “What do you mean? It is important to your people.”

“We...shared a strong moment. I saw your spirit in a moment of vulnerability. Weakness,” He corrected at her expression of confusion, giving her words she understood more. “It felt, that it would be unequal, for me to see such a moment from you, and to not bare my spirit to you in return.”

Sansa let out a soft, shaky, 'oh', as the words fumbled and clicked into place of understanding. A strange curling sensation wrapped around her chest and Sansa couldn't stop how her cheeks warmed. She remembered Running Crane saying that once, that the eyes were the windows into the soul. Though they used the word spirit instead. But it was a close enough translation. In the older woman explaining that, Sansa realised exactly why it was wrong of her to look in the chief's eyes. He was a man of such importance that it was wrong to stare so intimately into his soul when they had never met. Over time, Sansa had noticed that the people did look at one another in the eye, contact some times still short, but it was generally with people that they were close to. Family and friends. People they felt were on equal standing. Fawn and her once witnessed two warriors of the tribe get into a verbal dispute and then had a long stare off.

In confusion, she looked over at the other girl, who said, 'They're just reaching a peace between themselves.'

So to think that Walking Crow had wanted to expose himself like Sansa had at the beach, to find common ground, to maintain that connection, had her wondering if her face was now completely on fire with how hot it felt.

The more she learnt of the tribe's culture and traditions, the more she found it almost...romantic. But not in a romance sense. Maybe intimate. It was like the type of connection they built with one another was something only read about in stories. It was a type of connection Sansa yearned for and managed to be lucky enough to obtain. Here, people looked away out of respect, not rudeness. Touching hair was not done unless you knew the person. It was why Running Crane was hesitant to touch hers that first time she broke down. The hair for them had a deep connection to themselves, and to touch another person's hair, would be wiping your own spirit onto theirs. It was invasive. You must know the person, and who they are – and it went both ways – before you could be allowed to make that connection. Sansa now had that connection with the two females, as she was allowed to braid Fawn's hair, and the girl did the same in return.

Creating a bond with someone was earned slowly over time. It would not be forced and it would be done honestly and with an understanding that you wanted a connection that would last a long time. Everything they did, they did with a purpose. Nothing was done frivolously or without a reason. Every word spoken and gesture made, had a point. They were honest and blunt people. Why waste time being sly and speaking in riddles, when you can just state the truth. It was like the Northern way, but to a stronger degree. Even in the North, people had this duality about them. Saying one thing, and doing something different. A slight duplicity. 

It was why Sansa found it romantic, but not. Every relationship they created was personal and important. That was the kind of relationships she wanted to build.

And to think, this whole time Walking Crow saw them as having a relationship like that. And here Sansa was, avoiding him after the first few weeks, ashamed of her vulnerability, when that was what their relationship had been built on from the beginning.

Unwanted and stupid tears began to fall from her eyes, and Sansa had to duck her head down into her arms, not wanting him to see it. However, he just gently grasped her head and brought it up, “Don't look away, Sansa. I will never think of you as lesser for crying. I'm sorry if what I said has upset you-”

“No! I am just a foolish outsider-”

“-Don't call yourself that please-”

“-and thought that we were just...friendly strangers.” It wasn't the right term she wanted to use, and going by his frown as he released her, Sansa realised she said the wrong thing. “I want us to be friends! I do! I was just...I did not understand. Everything about your people, I never notice until now that everything you do, you do with all heart.”

Honestly, this entire conversation was a mess. Her being still new to the language and not being able to get her true words across, ignoring the fact that she herself didn't even know why she was suddenly so upset by the fact that Walking Crow thought of them as being close, created this disaster of a sentence. She liked the idea of them being familiar, but she seemed to have been stopping herself from allowing it to be recognised in her mind. Like she thought that she wasn't allowed to have such connections with people.

Sansa felt so unworthy by how much they put their all into everything they do, when Sansa considered her own familial relationships in the past. How she took it all for granted, constantly argued with her sister, and was unable to forge a connection with her own father. She felt like a fraud, somehow gaining such closeness to Fawn, Walking Crow, Running Crane, Arrow head, and Drumbeat.

By now, with their raised voices, they must have scared off the deer, but neither noticed as Walking Crow sighed softly and wrapped one arm around her shoulders, bringing her into his side, “I'm sorry if I've overstepped. I thought that in a time of loneliness, I could offer you a hand.” She would've flushed at being close to a male who was topless, but she had grown used to it over her time with the tribe.

“It was pity?” The words came out more bitter than she intended. Sansa did not want anyone befriending her because of how miserable she was. However, he shook his head, firmly stating, “Never. I saw a lonely and grieving person who needed help, and did what I could. I wanted to help you carry your sadness. I did not want you to be alone anymore.”

Sniffling, Sansa craned her head up to look him deep in his eyes as she replied sincerely, “Thank you, Walking Crow. I do see you as friend.”

It was as if as things began to become better, it all came crashing down one morning.

A week after the pow-wow, and around two weeks before they would break down the camp and begin to travel towards the trading post, Sansa woke up to a wetness in between her legs. A horrifying, dreadful, and familiar wetness.

Sitting up abruptly, throwing the blanket off her - and subsequently Fawn's – body, Sansa spotted the blood that was dotting the blankets, not a lot, but enough to cause her body to go into a panic. “No.” She began to murmur, horror building and building in her chest, “No, no no, please no!”

“Sansa!? Sansa what's wrong?”

She heard words being spoken near her, but all she could think of was the horrible morning of being dragged from her bed and brought before the queen, blood still slick on her thighs. When a hand brushed her shoulder, Sansa flinched and began to crawl away as fast as she could, falling over when she bumped against something heavy.

“Please! Please, I'm sorry! Don't-don't make me-” Words clogged her throat, remembering all that was expected of her once she began to bleed. The vile and horrible words filled her mind to the point that nothing else would register. She could only hear their vile words and how loud her heart was. It was like drums, beating fiercely and unending.

Until strong hands took her shoulders and firmly demanded, “Breathe, Sansa. You are safe.”

Struggling, Sansa tried to inhale, lungs burning from the lack of proper air, and weakly, she opened her eyes. Running Crane's blurry form met her, and that was when Sansa noticed that she was crying.

“I'm sorry.” Sansa whispered once more, her voice shaking and she was absolutely terrified of what might happen next.

Frowning, and noting that Sansa was in no state of mind to be speaking a language she was only beginning to grasp, the older woman asked, “Is this your first?”

Sansa shook her head, shame burning her cheeks.

The woman then confirmed just as kindly, “Then you know what is happening?”

Sansa nodded. “So why upset?” Running Crane asked next, sounding bewildered to the red head.

Her breath hitched, and Sansa stuttered messily, words probably unintelligible, “Because-because when a girl begins to bleed, she is ready to be married. I was married off once I started and I-I don't-don't w-w-want it to- to happen-” Voice cracking, Sansa broke into heaving sobs as Running Crane hurriedly leant forward and gathered Sansa into her warm embrace as she spoke firmly, “You will not marry. Not unless you want to.”

Lip trembling at the absolute belief in those words, Sansa wetly asked, “Promise?”

“I promise, Sansa.” Then, after sometime of stroking Sansa's hair, soothing Sansa down from her panic, Running Crane began, “Now, come. We have somewhere to be. I am right in saying that enemies were not kind on first bleeding?”

Squeezing her eyes closed, wishing to shut out the violent memories, Sansa silently nodded. “Then you get better care. Come.”

On shaky legs, and with the older woman helping her up, Sansa stood and saw how Fawn was watching her with concerned eyes, lost and unsure with their language shift. Reassuring her, her grandmother spoke, “We are going to the moon tipi." Fawn's eyes widened in realisation, and her posture relaxed.

“I will clean up here.”

Nodding in approval, Running Crane, wrapped a blanket around Sansa's shoulders, and began to usher her out of the tipi. The blood hadn't began to run down her legs completely yet, but she could almost feel it about to, and hoped that they got to where they were going fast.

Sansa had no idea what was going to happen, but she had learnt to trust Running Crane from the beginning. So, she had to maintain that belief and allow herself to be guided from one tipi to across the camp to another. With the red paint marked upon the skin covering, Sansa had an idea of exactly what this place was meant for as she ducked down and through the entrance.

Chapter Text

Her first day in the moon tipi was spent curled up on a cot, her two blankets – her favourite ones by this point due to the memories they held – covering her aching body as she hugged a water skein full of boiled water to her abdomen. Every now and then she shuffled to her feet and went to the small, private area to relieve herself and clean up as best as she could before falling back down onto her cot with a miserable groan.

But she wasn't asked to do anything at all in that time. Not like in King's Landing where she was required to walk around like she wasn't in agony. Running Crane just calmly tended the fire, making some food, as well as finishing up any sewing or weaving projects she had for the trading post. Sansa hadn't wanted to stomach any of the food that was offered for that first day, nausea churning angrily in her stomach. However, Running Crane had insisted on her drinking cool cups of water, along with teas brewed for her pain.

But, Sansa was not allowed to drink it herself. The elder woman would sit up her against her side, and hold the rim of the cup to Sansa's lips, encouraging her to drink. When Running Crane had first began to serve her like that, Sansa had immediately protested, flushing and speaking in her first language, “I'm not a child! I can do it myself.”

Running Crane gave a tiny frown, explaining, “It's tradition. Mother's on their daughter's first bleeding will care for them for the last time. I will feed you and help you drink. It allows us to treat you like our babies for one last time. I did so with my daughters, and I shall do so with you and Fawn.”

Never minding the fact that this was not Sansa's first period, the red head ended up stuttering out a tiny, “I-I am not your daughter...”

Her eyes softened, the dark colour warm as she brushed the hair from Sansa's face and replied, “You are a child under my care, and I will give you what your mother couldn't. I do not wish to replace her, but I feel that she would be happy that someone was able to give you comfort and guidance when you needed it.”

Tears had welled up in Sansa's eyes, and the woman crooned softly, gently urging the younger female's head to rest on her shoulder as she fed her sips of water. The humiliation of being babied faded by the end of the day, after finally thinking she could stomach food. She still flushed, unable to meet Running Crane's eyes, but opened her mouth with every spoonful coming her way.

The next morning, she woke to dull aches, her hot water now cool and tea for the pain having left her system. Miserable was the best explanation, but it was loads better than her times spent on her period during her imprisonment. Shae had done well, soothing her when she could, but there was still an awkward barrier of servant and mistress. Plus, Sansa had soon learnt that Shae and Tyrion had some kind of relationship together, making Sansa a bit uncomfortable accepting the other girl's help.

With Running Crane, Sansa found herself that first afternoon with her head laid upon her lap, and the woman recited stories and legends, helping Sansa with her understanding of the language through tales, as well as the gods they worshiped. Whenever Sansa asked about a word she hadn't understood, the woman would easily explain and find other words that Sansa did know in order to help Sansa learn.

On the third day, her pains easing but the blood still flowing, Sansa looked up from Running Crane's lap and asked in their language, “What are those...lines. On chin?”

“On the chin.” Running Crane corrected, before replying, “Women of the tribe get their first ink markings after their first bleeding. The markings of the woman. It is a mark of honor and to show our first change from girlhood, to womanhood. Then, they can gain the two outer lines through having children, or reaching their thirtieth year. When they stop bleeding for the last time, or their children have children, they gain the three dots to show they have grown and lived through all three phases of a woman's life.”

It was a lot of words at once, and some that she hadn't understood, Running Crane helped by gesturing at each marking. Curious, Sansa lifted her finger, and paused for Running Crane's nod of permission. When she gained it, Sansa trailed her fingertip lightly against the marks and marveled at how they were embedded into the skin.

“Did it hurt?”

Smiling at her open curiosity and sliver of worry, Running Crane responded honestly, “A little. The healing itched, but the chin was numbed by salve.”

“'Salve?'” Sansa uncertainly repeated the unfamiliar word.

“Medicine. Thick.” Running Crane said in westerosi, and Sansa nodded slowly, thinking she knew what the woman was referring to.

“Can I-” But Sansa stopped herself, uncertain if she was allowed to even ask, however the woman picked up on her unspoken question and replied, “You are part of the tribe, but you were raised outside of it as well. It is a choice that is up to you.”

Dropping her fingers to rest against her stomach, Sansa nibbled her lips before softly asking, “Can I think?”

Running Crane petted her hair, reassuring the girl, “Of course. We will not force you into anything you do not wish.”

Tremulously, Sansa smiled in response.

Besides expanding on her vocabulary and grammar, Sansa also finally had the proper time to just sit and finish making her own clothes. Borrowing from Fawn was all well and good, but Sansa wanted her own clothes. Something she could make with her own two hands and proudly show off. She had studied hard at their sewing techniques as well as how they cut their fabrics and skins, and wanted to have proof of that diligence.

It was less elaborate than the styles in Westeros, making it easier to drape and prepare, however Sansa was working with slightly unfamiliar materials. She had worked with furs before, as well as leather for gloves, but not to this large amount. For the winter, Running Crane had suggested to line her outer animal skin and inner wool fabrics with layers of fur, giving a barrier from the oncoming cold. It was like making a quilt in that way, but less embroidery and with more beads and shells.

She made a long dress, though much shorter than her homeland standards, falling to her upper knees. She had understood it was a type of practicality with the amount of work they do around the encampment. The top of the chest had that fringing as well as thin bead work in her house colours, blue and red, and grey and white. She tried to mimic the arrow and triangular pattern, wanting to fit in with the tribe and their styles. The hem and parts of the sleeves also had fringing, the bead clacking daintily against one another with every movement.

Then, Sansa made a wrap around skirt that all women wore, as well as trousers underneath, layering up well. Those pieces were less elaborate in decoration, more for practical purposes. However, she did focus on making sure every stitch was as invisible as possible, never wanting to grow lazy in her needlework just because it would not be seen. Running Crane even seemed impressed by the stitches, holding it up in the fire light to assess it with sharp eyes.

The week with Running Crane had those seeds of fear via Cersei dying with every new one Running Crane nurtured. At one point Sansa had said, “When I was with enemies, a woman who hated me, once said, 'A woman's weapon, is between the legs.'” The actual thing Cersei said was more complicated than that, but not only was Sansa trying to translate it, it was also what she took from their conversation.

Running Crane had tsked in disgust and argued, “A woman's strength is her spirit and beliefs. She need not use her body in such a way when there are tools that could be used to fight back instead.”

Unable to stop herself, Sansa retorted back, “What if they don't give you tools to fight?”

“Then you make one.” Running Crane had sniffed derisively.

From what Sansa understood, females could learn to fight if they wished, though it was still primarily a man's job. It seemed that the very idea of using your body to gain control or power in some way, was heavily looked down upon. Sansa thought that too, but she couldn't help but think about how much the women of her land lacked that chance to gain any kind of tool that wasn't their body to survive.

It seemed it would forever be a cultural difference, their opinions never truly aligning. Sansa found, however, that that wasn't a bad thing, to not be fully in agreement with some of their ideas. It wasn't going to harm anyone, with the way that Sansa privately to herself, and Sansa could not find it in herself to judge a woman like Shae or Cersei for doing what they could in a man's world in the end. For the most part, she could happily follow the tribes way anyways. This one difference in opinion, however, was Sansa's to keep.

“Do women have to have children here?” Sansa asked one evening after dinner was over, curling into her nest of blankets and watching the woman's fingers weave a band of strings and beads together. Running Crane paused in her crafting to meet Sansa's curious and unsure eyes.

“It is their own decision. Women are the life-givers, it is why we are in charge of farming, our bodies are built to nurture and breathe life into the world. It is a gift, but a gift that you don't need to use. Your decision is one that is respected wholly.”

Sansa frowned thoughtfully, hesitantly beginning to wonder out loud, remembering how to woman reacted to the thought of using your body for control, “If a man...forces themselves-”

However, Running Crane immediately cut her off, sharply stating, “You have every right to kill them. Your body is yours and it is sacred. Do not let anyone in that you have not deemed worthy. If they force it, then their life is now in your hands.”

It was a relief to know that they matched in opinion on that though process and softly said, “...thank you.”

Logically, she knew that no one had any right to her body, but the ingrained teachings of her land had her always knowing that it was that no one had any right to her body, besides her husband. Sansa, after hearing Running Crane's firm words, felt like a weight was lifted minutely, able to breathe just a bit more. Men have been violent with her body and mind, and Sansa didn't know if she could ever accept one into her bed and her body.

However, the men of the tribe had been nothing but kind to her. Their touches, though had her fearful at first, were always respectful and used to help and care. She knew they were men built to fight, they walked around shirtless all the time by the seven's sake! Sansa would be blind if she couldn't see the muscle built from training to create their bodies into a weapon. The King's Guard had destroyed any thoughts Sansa had for honorable and valiant knights in the songs, but the men of the tribe have seemed to build that idea back up, though with Sansa's eyes opened to the real world.

You did not have to be a knighted warrior, to be strong and a fighter. You did not have to wear shining armour and be draped in a cloak to be honorable and noble. Sometimes, the real knights of the songs, were those that wore only animal skin and painted their bodies. They were warriors that believed not in the glory of battle, but the sacrifice for the good of others. It was in taking care of the elderly and defenseless. It was keeping their loved ones safe.

Thinking about the men of the tribe, she felt a safety. One that she hadn't felt for a long time.

On the fifth day, Sansa had questioned about seeing Fawn, missing the older girl's bubbly nature. Running Crane however shook her head and stated, “She has not bled yet, so she may not enter the moon tipi.”

“Will I be able to visit her, when she does?”

Running Crane contemplated her innocent question, before gently rejecting her, “I would like to have the time with Fawn to be between us. It is kind you wish to visit her, but these moments are personal and sacred.”

Sansa almost wanted to cry out of shame for overstepping her boundaries, and hurriedly replied, not wanting to offend the woman she had grown to admire so much, “Of course! I don't want to take that from you.”

Chuckling a little at Sansa's distressed words, the woman reached over and patted her head in reassurance, “Don't fret, child. You did not know. There is nothing wrong with asking and learning.”

Cheeks hot, Sansa ducked down and mumbled, relieved she wasn't in trouble, “Yes, Running Crane.”

On the last night, Sansa was bathed in sage water, Running Crane talking about childbirth, and about her own daughters and their births. She spoke about what it was like, carrying the children in her, the connection and how it hurt when that was lost. She explained that one of her daughters was back at the permanent village, whereas another married a man from the Many Horses tribe, leaving Fawn behind, as the little girl belonged to the Red Buffalo tribe.

It broke Sansa's heart, to see the longing, the aching amount of yearning on the older woman's face, over how much she missed her daughter who left all of her family behind. It had Sansa thinking over her own selfish desire of marrying Joffrey, so desperate to grow up and leave her family. How silly she was to wish that all away, knowing what she knew now.

When Sansa finished bleeding completely, Running Crane began to dress her in the project it seemed the older woman had been working on the entire time they were in the tipi. Sansa couldn't stop the overwhelming delight at the knowledge that the older woman had made something for her. After Sansa stopped the pricks of tears from spilling over, she had hugged the woman tightly, Running Crane laughing softly at her enthusiasm.

The woman dressed Sansa in a white skinned dress, the beaded regalia beautiful and standing out sharply in contrast. Running Crane then ran a brush gently through Sansa's curly hair, splitting it into two thick braids. Sansa was always unsure if it was appropriate for her to wear her hair in the style, even as Fawn had begun to do so after three weeks of living with them. However, the older woman just hushed her soft protests, and they settled into silence. Closing her eyes, Sansa could picture it was her mother behind her, doing her hair like she loved to do every night.

Then, when dressed and prepared to be presented to the tribe as a woman, according to Running Crane, Sansa was led her out of the moon tipi, relieved to finally be out of the place. It was an amazing and informative experience, but she had started to grow restless, eager to move around outside of the small space.

What was a startling scene though, was the three men settled some feet away from the secluded tipi, a tiny fire crackling as they sat around and talked. Bewildered, Sansa glanced over at Running Crane and softly asked, not wanting to draw the men's attention yet, “Why are they there?”

A proud expression was on the woman's face as she observed the men, replying without looking away, “It is traditional, for the men of the girls to keep watch.”

Stunned, Sansa blurted out a frantic whisper, “They were here the entire time?!”

Amused at her frazzled state, Running Crane nodded, “Yes.”

“...For me?” She could just not comprehend that someone sat outside for an entire week, just to keep her safe. It was just too much!

Obviously noticing how much this was affecting her, Running Crane soothed Sansa, placing a gentle hand in-between her shoulder blades, “You are dear to them, Sansa. You are part of this tribe, but without the immediate family to look after you. As they found you, they are now part of that family. So am I and Fawn.”

“I-” Sansa was speechless. She didn't know if she should feel gratitude for how above and beyond they went to take care of her, or guilt. Was she replacing her own blood family? Was she no longer a filial daughter, because she was creating new bonds to replace the ones that were ripped away? Sansa couldn't even have the chance to repeat these worries to Running Crane, as Drumbeat looked up, hearing their hushed words and stood.

The man who Sansa could not stop thinking about as a father-like figure began to walk over to them, Sansa and Running Crane meeting him half way the younger girl slightly tucked behind the other woman.. The other two quickly followed close behind, and Sansa tried not to feel embarrassed over knowing that they knew exactly what was happening in the last week.

Running Crane had been very firm with Sansa once the girl had admitted her shame and humiliation of being on her period, something that was mocked and used against her bodily rights in the King's Landing. The woman crushed those notions with serious words, “Anything a man can do, a woman can do bleeding. This is a sign that you can carry a child, something they can't do. The men here are taught to respect their women, to know that without us, life could not continue. Never feel ashamed of what is natural.”

Kindly, Drumbeat rested his hands on her shoulders and spoke, “You have started on your path to womanhood. I look forward to what life has on that road for you, Sansa.”

Lip wobbling, Sansa couldn't stop herself from flinging her body forward, embracing Drumbeat around the waist.

Her family must be cursing her from the afterlife, but Sansa couldn't stop the way she craved to have a family once more. She was selfish, but the desire was not something she would try to stop.

Two days after being brought back into the tribe, now seen as a young woman and growing, the settlement had begun to pack up for travel. Carts that had been tucked and piled away were brought forward, allowing the tribes people to start stacking their things onto them. During that time, Fawn had come eagerly over to her on the first day out of the moon tipi to present her with one of the beaded headbands that many wore around the tribe, the feather Sansa had found on her journey with the three men woven in and sticking up.

Giddy to wear it, Sansa couldn't stop the grin on her face as the older girl put it on her, snug against her head. Touched at the gesture, Sansa was unable to keep her fingers from brushing up against it the next few days, grinning from ear to ear even as she started to heft sacks of clothes and supplies onto carts.

In that time of hustle and bustle around the campsite, Sansa ended up running into the Chief as she was helping with packing away objects that they would be using for trading. The large and serious man was walking around camp, seeming to observe how everything was going, at times helping with some who were breaking down the tipis to be tied and packed away. He did not wear his head dress, something Sansa learnt was a ceremonial item and not worn on the daily.

Watching how his long, braided hair swayed with each movement of his slow, assured gait, Sansa hadn't noticed she was staring until he looked her way. Cheeks beginning to flush with heat, the girl darted her eyes away and focused back on her task with Forest Water. But then, she caught onto the inked markings on the woman's face, lacking the dots of the elder phase, and thoughtfully glanced back over at the Chief.

Turning to the woman, Sansa said, “Am I allowed to talk to the Chief?”

Looking up from her work, Forest Water replied calmly, “Of course. The Chief is always willing to listen to anyone in the tribe.”

Tentative, Sansa asked, “Can I...go talk to him? I have something I need to ask.”

Nodding, Forest Water said, “You may. Thank you for asking.”

Smiling, Sansa got up and began to walk towards the Chief, who was beginning to move away from where he was observing another group of people, onto another task it seemed. When she neared him, steps cautious, Sansa softly called out, “Chief Black Deer?” Pausing in his observation, he turned to her, facing her head on to incline his head in greeting and acknowledgement, “Sansa.”

Shuffling from foot to foot, Sansa blurted out, “I have a question to ask.”

Staring at her for a moment, he then gestured with his head for her to follow, and began to lead her towards a more private area of the tribe, settling himself onto the beaten down grass. After a pause, Sansa sat across from him, and he waited for her to speak in calm silence.

Wringing her hands in her lap, Sansa thought about how to word her question before finally asking, “Am I allowed, to get the markings of the woman?”

He blinked once, before releasing a thoughtful exhale, leaning back and looking up at the sky. The silence ticked by, the sounds of the tribe distant as she laid all her focus on to his response. In the daylight and up close, Sansa could see he couldn't be older than her father, maybe by a few more years. He had the growing of crow feet by his eyes, frown lines becoming prominent on her deep, acorn-coloured skin. The calm confidence of the leader was more powerful than the cocky arrogance of Joffrey. Of course age and better discipline as a child was the reason for such a contrast. Sansa certainly preferred this leader to the dead king.

When he seemed ready to speak, the Chief made eye contact, bringing his head back down to face her, and replied, “The respect and consideration you give the tribe and our ways is a mark of sincerity on your person. It shows that you do not take things for granted.”

Ashamed, Sansa admitted, not willing to take a compliment without him knowing the truth. “I used to.”

He hummed deeply in his chest, speaking in the low rumble, “Our way is the endurance of suffering and the difficulty of life. Learning and growing from it, but not allowing the pain to weigh you down. You have suffered. And you have grown. It is sad to see that you had to suffer to do so, but the past is something we can not change but learn from. And you are learning.”

Unsure, Sansa confined quietly, “I just feel, that even though I have been welcomed into your tribe, I still feel I do not have to right to join in with your traditions.”

Reaching out a large hand, palm up, Sansa blinked down at the gesture, before delicately laying her hand in his. He brought up his other hand, and began to gently rub his thumbs against the lines on her palm, expression thoughtful.

The movement and touch was soothing, and she found herself focusing so much onto it, that she was momentarily startled when Chief Black Deer began to speak once more, focus still on her hand, “You have grown in a different culture, and for that, no one can condemn you for any slights out of ignorance. That fact you are willing to observe and learn is another mark on you person. You are open-minded and curious. If you do not want the markings of the woman, than you do not have to. It is a mark of pride. A show of growth and remembrance of the past. You may or you may not. That is a decision in your hands.”

And here, he curled up her fingers with his, and softly returned her hand to her lap. Dazed, Sansa nodded, her head swimming with all the words he had spoken. She had definitely begun to understand the language more than she could speak it, much like Running Crane with Westerosi. So it took a moment for her to digest his words, and then begin to understand and think them over.

Seeing her lost in thought, the Chief stood up, gave her head a gentle pat, before moving away and back to the settlement.

The year in King's Landing had had Cersei teaching her what a horrible thing it was to be a woman, and how you had to do bad things, to become powerful. Sansa had sworn not to be like her, and to remember the kinder teachings from her own mother. But it was hard, with how loud Cersei's seemed to blare in her ears and mind all the time, her mother's guidance a distant thing.

Her period was a mark of fear. Before King's Landing, Sansa was excited of the prospect, wanting to become a proper lady as fast as possible. Then, it became a sign that she was eligible for marriage, and taught that she should love no one but her children. The horror of the thought that she would never be able to love the man that would touch her at her most vulnerable and trusting terrified her. It was also once something Sansa had accepted with resignation, knowing that Joffrey would never show that love, the monster that he was.

Her period had become a thought of dread and fear. She wanted it to be one of pride again.

Chapter Text

The plains rolled and moved like fixed waves of an ocean, the tribe riding the surf slowly but persistently. None walked, either on horses or riding in the open carts, with scouts running ahead and coming back every now and then, reporting about the path. However, the tribe moved with familiarity, a journey taken every year that many could point out specific memories connected to certain trees or plots of land. Fawn had at one point gestured at an area that bowled deep into the ground by a cliff creating a stream across the land, a tiny waterfall pouring white water down the stones, and said that she once drank from it and swallowed a bee by accident.

The direction they headed was towards the Blue Mountains, growing larger and daunting with every steady movement. In the trek forward, the weather turned to a slight mist of rain, not enough to be completely bothersome, but certainly irritating as her hair began to curl even more. It was a week in that the sky had turned a permanent grey, covering the sunshine, and Sansa would stare up at it, eyes squinting from the rain, and enjoy the overcast. It reminded her fondly of the North.

When they got close enough to the mountains, the land started to become rocky around the pathway they took, sharp edges sparsely covered in pine trees. The Blue Mountains soon lost the name it was given, as the browns and greens of the trees and earth painted the giant beasts clear with multiple colours. The clouds hung low on the mountains, the tribe sometimes passing through the foggy constructs, and Sansa loved that they were like white fingers of smoke, the clouds seeming to trail and roll down the mountains, slow and creeping.

The mountainous pass they traveled through was awe-inspiring. Sansa had never been deep into a mountain range like this before. Mountains were always a sight from afar for her, never submersed into the nature. She had never had the towering lands of broken cliffs with the slate grey rocks surround her, tall and impossible to climb. Trees were diagonal and sometimes almost completely vertical where they branched up from the steep earth, roots strong and buried deep into the ground to hold their weight.

Scents of the wet dirt and trees was musky and heady, causing any kind of nervousness Sansa had surrounded by such wild wilderness to dissipate like the clouds around them. The smells brought a pure joy for the wild and untouched nature that Sansa wanted to just run through the woods. However, she understood from the cautious words that Arrowhead had spoke one evening, about never wandering too far and separating from the tribe. He warned of bears and wolves - not that wolves terrified her really - and spoke in soft low tones about something called skin-walkers. He seemed reluctant to speak about the creatures, as if the very words could summon the skin-walkers at any moment. However, he understood the importance of Sansa needing to be aware of them and told her.

Depending on the stories of interaction with the skin-walkers, they were sometimes people who used evil power, a dark witch, that could change it's form into animals or even people, luring unsuspecting victims away from their tribe to kill and eat them. Other stories say it's not even a fully human being, a creature constantly searching for a permanent form, but never satisfied with what it took. Gravely, Arrowhead said, “The only way to tell if it's a skin-walker, is the eyes. They are long, eyes not stretching to the sides but upwards, like the eye has been turned sideways. If you see someone or something with eyes like that, you run.”

Sansa could safely say that she had nightmares that, for once, had nothing to do with King's Landing the next few nights after that warning. But, it did it's job in keeping Sansa firmly close to the tribe. She understood Father's words more than ever before when with the tribe; The lone wolf dies but the pack survives.

Because that was what the tribe was about. They were such a tight knit community. Children were raised by more than just their immediate family. Elders were cared for as a whole and people could rely on one another. Everything they did, any large decision, was made for the good of the whole tribe, not just the singular. And Sansa felt like she could fully get behind that idea. She liked knowing that no one would be alone in their lives as long as they had the tribe.

The consistent crawl of the tribe had them making good time through the mountain range and to the trading post. When they broke fully out of the mountains, Sansa could actually see the trading post in the distance because of how flat the land was past the rocky giants. It was a few wooden buildings, squat and seemed sturdy against harsh weather.

Within half a day since leaving the valley they traveled through, they had reached the outskirts of the trading post and began to set up a temporary campsite. What was a bit startling for Sansa, was how instead of pitching their own small tipis like before for individual families, the tribe banded together and began to create one large and long construct. The large wooden poles were leant up against one another and locked together. Large skins draped and rope keeping it all firm and in place. Inside, the roof was tall enough that even the tallest of the men could stand up completely straight and still have a foot or so of space above them. The long tipi allowed for a few fires to be dug into the ground and start warming up the space as the tribe began to filter in, laying out cots with their immediate families.

She had never seen so many people in one place, ready to contently sleep in each other's space, unbothered by it all. The lack of privacy in some cases certainly had Sansa a bit hesitant, changing with a blanket covering her nude body because she was so unused to the shamelessness of the tribe when it came to nakedness. It was utterly bizarre and pouted when Fawn had teased her about her embarrassment as the other girl stripped uncaringly. The people in Westeros would have been utterly scandalised by it all. Except for perhaps Dorne, but Sansa wasn't too sure on their culture.

They waited two days around the trading post and in the new tipi, apparently waiting for the other three tribes to converge to the place to begin trading. And Sansa watched from a distance as they filtered in, coming in large groups like her own tribe, curious and wary of the new people. Walking Crow seemed to have made her side a permanent fixture for himself in those days, keeping a hawk-like eye on the strangers, not wanting them to get too close. The way he made himself her self-proclaimed guard in those days would have been irksome, if she didn't appreciate it. The Red Buffalo tribe were kind enough to accept her, but the other tribes might not be so warm to her presence.

Finally though, when everyone seemed to be settled in their own campsites, they began to set up areas to show their wares that each tribe had created and gathered over the year. And observing, Sansa had noticed someone who stood out in the midst of all the warm skin and dark-haired people.

Someone with pale skin like hers, hair a corn-silk blond streaked with grey, was setting up tables outside one of the few building of the trading post. In the hustle and bustle of the tribal people talking and haggling with one another, Sansa was drawn to someone who looked like her. With Walking Crow following her through the crowds, Sansa made her way to the man. He already had some people from the tribes gathered around his wares, his voice a croaking sound, crackled and withered like old bark. But it was friendly, as he talked in the tribal language easily with the others before him, though it held a slightly different dialect and accent to the one she was learning, making it hard to understand what he was saying.

His wares, Sansa noted as she peaked around a woman she was not familiar with, were different from the carved bowls and woven blankets that many had out and presented. There were tools made by a skilled craftsman. The kind of craft that she saw in cities like King's Landing, or around Winterfell. The kind that had a forge to create in. There were also rolls of fabric like wool and thickly woven cotton, perfect for people who traveled in harsh climates, as well as boots made by a cobbler. And books.

Books that, Sansa realised, were actually empty journals of thick parchment. With quills and bottles of ink close by. Most, if not all, of the tribes people did not seem interested in them. One man, a young one that was close the Arrowhead's age perhaps, eyed one and a charcoal pencil. An artist maybe, Sansa observed.

Drawn in by the familiarity of the man's wares, Sansa soon was stood before him, her first few woven blankets in her arms to trade with if he would be accepting. After finishing up a trade with another customer, his eyes met hers and widened in surprise. They were a warm brown colour.

“Do you speak the common tongue?” He asked upfront.

Perking up at the fluency of her first language, Sansa easily replied, “I do! I was born in Westeros.”

His eyes twinkled in joy, remarking politely, “Quite far from home then, aye?”

With a soft exhale, a wry amusement, Sansa nodded, “Yes, not by choice, but the tribe I run with have been welcoming.” And she turned to look at Walking Crow, giving the male a soft smile. The man nodded in understanding, replying easily with a pleasant smile, “The tribes of the Blue Mountain Range and Flat Plains are good people. Many outside of them view them as barbaric, which is unfortunate. They are certainly more forgiving than the Dothraki to the east of us.” He finished with a mutter that seemed to hold some kind of history in it's tone.

Worried, Sansa asked, “They are that close?”

He nodded his head, “The mountain range you traveled through are sat in the middle of the tribal lands. Then there is a large river that borders these lands east of us, and the Dothraki lands, the Grass Sea. As long as neither tribes nor khalasars pass through, it stays relatively peaceful. There have been battles in the past, but that was some decades before I arrived here.”

Curiously, Sansa wondered, “How long have you lived here for?”

Proudly, he announced, “A good thirty years. My predecessor, the man who taught me how to run this place, along with my trades, passed some ten years before.”

Frowning, Sansa offered a soft condolence, “I'm sorry for your loss, sir.”

However, he just waved her words off, “It's of no worry. And call me Jaxton. I am just a man happily living my life in these lands, I am no lord.”

Smiling, Sansa couldn't help the tiny bob of her curtsy in response. That had his bushy grey eyebrows rising. “You...are not a commoner, are you?”

Hesitantly, Sansa slowly shook her head, and he nodded, as if she just confirmed his suspicions. “I had thought so, your speech is very formal, definitely not the kind of someone who lacked an education. May I ask whereabouts in Westeros?”

A pause. “The North.”

His eyebrows seemed to rise higher at that answer, “The North, aye? That's a surprise. I would have pegged you more Southern with those manners.”

Pursing her lips, not wanting them to tremble at the topic of her long gone family, Sansa quietly replied, “My mother was of the Riverlands.”

“What house, may I ask?”

Sansa wondered if it was dangerous to talk about her family, knowing the war back at home. However, this was a singular man in the midst of wilderness who traded with tribal people. If by chance he passed word of her living in these lands, it would still be difficult for anyone to even find her, much less some army coming after her to take her back. So, desperate to talk to someone who could properly understand her culture, Sansa replied, “The Tully. And my Father was a Stark.”

“Was?”

A sharp exhale. “He...died. Most of my family that I know of, is gone.”

The bushy eyebrows furrowed in concern and sympathy, reaching out to lay one wrinkled hand against hers, “I'm dearly sorry for your loss, my lady.”

Her breath stopped at the title. Living with the tribe, Sansa had to adjust to the lack of deference that she had grown up with. Even in King's Landing, there was still a respect to her station, besides the Lannisters of course. It was hard at times, but with how her grief had consumed her in those weeks, Sansa hadn't really bothered to feel unsettled by the lack of titles. When she clawed her way out of the mourning and loss, Sansa had already grown used to just being called, 'Sansa'.

Shyly, Sansa looked away and said, “No need for the titles, I am just Sansa.”

“Well, Just Sansa, is there anything that has caught your eye?” And he gestured at his table, changing the subject after noticing how it made her slightly uncomfortable. Grateful, Sansa's eyes immediately moved to the journals, and Jaxton followed her gaze with delight.

“Ah, the journals. I have to say, not my best sellers, but that is understandable for a language that is not written, only spoken. I've had a few artists from the tribes interested in preserving their work, but that is all.”

Thoughtfully, Sansa asked, “Do you also have any reading material?”

He gave a sheepish smile, “Unfortunately not that is for trading. It's my own small collection and I have to say I am quite attached to it.”

She bobbed her head in understanding, “Of course. I would not want to take away that from you.” Eyes lingering on a magenta-stained leather covered journal, the colour vibrant in contrast to the more warm reds and browns, and some greys. Curious, Sansa asked, “How did you get such a bright colour?” Fingers lightly brushing the leather.

The man shrugged, “Not too sure. It was an accident when I made that stain, just experimenting with different ingredients and materials I had gathered. Very beautiful though, isn't it.”

“I do love the unique shade.” Sansa commented with a murmur, tracing the leather.

“Would you wish to trade for it?”

Immediately, Sansa added, “If I could have that as well as the inks and quills?” She desperately wanted to write about everything that has happened so far. The adventure and people, as well as the upheaval of emotions. It felt like it would be cathartic for her.

Jaxton readily agreed, “Of course. Can't write without the proper utensils after all.”

Hefting her blankets on the table, Sansa nervously said, “This is all I have to trade with. These are the first blankets I've ever made, so they might not be of the best quality and design. And I'm sure you've already got many of blankets so-”

Jaxton held up a withered and wrinkled hand, stopping her nervous babbling in place, and started to examine the blankets. “Sansa.” He began kindly, “You have a good eye of colour schemes, and though there is an obvious amateur nature to your weaving, the signs of a beginner, they are still thick and good for the cold. That is sometimes more important that the presentation. Especially out in the wild.”

Shuffling in place, Sansa felt her cheeks warm, bashful. Praise for any work she's done, such as embroidery and making her own dresses, always had her flustered, genuinely proud of her work and pleased others like it too. Then, he continued, “You have also given me a chance to speak my first language in a proper conversation. I have missed it, only having spoken it rarely with passing traders. And you are certainly more pleasant conversationalist than them. If you would offer me a story, I think we can call it a fair trade, hm?”

Blinking, stunned, Sansa had to take a moment to gather her thoughts before bright smile erupted from her lips. “I would be happy to trade you a story.”

“Any would do. Something happy, if I may request.”

Thinking it over, Sansa looked through her childhood memories, and fell upon one that though at the time upset her, she had found to look back on it fondly now, holding the simpler times in the dear memory.

“Well,” Sansa began, and watched as Jaxton leant forward in his seat, eagerness in his expression, “There was a day when I was little, and my eldest brother brought me and my siblings down into the family crypts...”

There was a skip in her step as Sansa and Walking Crow made their way back to their tribe's encampment. The older boy looked at her, amused, and asked, “What do you plan to with that trade?”

“I plan to...” Sansa hesitated, as there was no word for writing in their language. Mulling it over, Sansa settled on, “Place my memories and thoughts into it.”

“You have many of those then?”

At his teasing, Sansa nudged her shoulder into his arm, the boy taller than her by about a foot, if not more. Her shove did nothing to him, only a slight waver at the force, and he grinned down at her, enjoying her useless endeavor. Turning away from him, pouting, Sansa gave him the silent treatment.

However, it did not last of course because Sansa enjoyed talking to him, as Walking Crow asked her moments later, “Did you enjoy talking to him? You seemed happy.”

Sansa sighed tiredly, a wash of sorrow over he heart as she replied, “I have missed speaking in my language. And he was a kind man, willing to take my terrible blankets and asked for a story.” She joked, wanting to lighten the mood. Understanding that, he asked, “What story was it?”

Giggling, the girl explained, “One from my childhood with my siblings. My brother played a joke and me and my siblings. Arya punched him in return for him scaring us.”

A grin crept across his face as he questioned, “And what did you do?”

“I ran away crying.” Sansa chirped back.

Walking Crow snorted in good humour, “I can't really see that with you. If anything, I would think you would stand your ground and tell them off.”

Sombering, Sansa murmured, “I was a different person then. And I think I would still do the same now.”

Pausing in his trek to the tipi, Walking Crow rested a hand on her shoulder, encouraging her earnestly, “You are braver than you think, Sansa.”

With her free hand, Sansa brought it up and laid it upon his, giving the fingers squeeze in gratitude, “Thank you, Walking Crow. You are too kind.”

In the evening, curled up on her cot of blankets, Sansa got out the journal and dipped her quill into the black ink cautiously, not wanting to spill it all over her, and began to write. The tribe around her either talked in hush conversation, not wanting to disturb those trying to rest. With only a momentarily pause on how to begin, Sansa started to scratch down her thoughts and memories.

'When I washed ashore an unfamiliar beach, I did not expect to find a place I could tentatively call a new home...'

With nothing more to personally trade, and having already helped Forest Water and Running Crane with their own trading the day before, Sansa took to sitting by a tree near the large tipi, writing down her thoughts and her journey so far in the journal. She made sure to write in small letters, not wanting to run out of pages before the next time she could come back to the trading post for another one.

At that Sansa had to pause, startled about the thought of a next time. Would she still be here to talk to Jaxton again? In the time here, Sansa hadn't thought about not seeing her home ever again. It was a hope for the future, to find her way back, to search for Arya. But she never allowed herself to linger on that idea, as it seemed too impossible. However, at the same time, Sansa hadn't thought about how living with the tribe would be a permanent fixture for her life now. She still saw herself as an outsider despite how they have taught her their language and ways. Despite how Fawn seemed to be already talking about Sansa being part of the tribe like she had been born in it.

It was an unsettling thought, still feeling like she was an outsider, unwelcome into their community. However, whilst she was ruminating this earth shaking realisation, foot steps coming towards her had Sansa glancing up at the newcomers, freezing. Her body locked up at the sight of two unfamiliar people, young men who observed her with curiosity.

“You are running with the Red Buffalo tribe, correct?”

Their voices were deep, standing the hair on her skin, and their dialect of her tribe accented on their tongue. Wary, Sansa gave a tiny nod of confirmation. Whilst one of them, who had red and white paint adorning his face stood further away, the other who asked the question, with lines of ink markings across his bared chest, crouched in front of her. His face was one of open interest as he asked, “Not exactly fitting in with our appearances are you? Are you like the white trader then?”

Eyes flicking around, taking in his entire form and locking on the short blade on his waist, Sansa softly answered, “I...guess.”

He cocked his head to the side. “How did you come about running in our lands?”

“I was found. They brought me in.” Sansa felt herself beginning to curl inwards, growing steadily more uncomfortable and scared the longer she was alone with them.

“We aren't the kind of people who welcome just any strangers. What did you do?” His narrowed eyes showed suspicion and the fear that leapt in her throat had Sansa giving an uncertain reply.

“I didn't do anything?”

The man in front of her scowled, not convinced. Something in her gut churned and she couldn't help how her hand began to discreetly shift towards the small knife on her waist. The one that Drumbeat had pressed into her hand the day they began their journey to the trading post. Across her, the man caught onto the movement and looked amused.

“Afraid, outsider?”

Licking her lips nervously, Sansa pointed out, “You are two men I don't know, making me uncomfortable. Yes I am afraid.”

It was at that moment that a familiar voice barked out, “Is there something you need from one of my tribes people?”

The men turned and Sansa could feel the tension that built into her shoulders release at the sight of Arrowhead and Walking Crow. The younger man was obvious in his anger, glaring heavily. His brother was more controlled, striding calmly towards them.

Hurriedly, Sansa corked the ink bottle, shoving it into the small pouch at her waist, and placed the quill in between her pages. Then, pulling herself up, she skirted around the crouching man, who was beginning to stand up at the other two approaching, and ducked behind the brothers.

Letting his brother talk to the two strangers, Walking Crow shifted to face her way slightly, a hand coming up to brush across the side of her head, lightly tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. It was a soft, reassuring gesture, seemingly able to soothe the angry boy.

Still wary of the other two men, Sansa kept her body still facing towards them, but found herself easing at the older boy's touch. His dark eyes darted over the rest of her form, as if searching for some wound or injury on her person. When he seemed satisfied with her lack of harm, Walking Crow turned a faced the two men, moving to stand directly in front of her and blocking her from view.

Anxious of a possible fight, Sansa peered around him a little, watching as Arrowhead listened to the man who talked to her.

“I was just surprised to see a girl like her. Just curious to know of why she was with our people.” He remarked lightly, causing Arrowhead to clench his fists. Despite the show of anger, he still kept a leveled voice as he stated, “As you are not a part of our tribe, you have no need to know the decisions made with my people. Our Chief has accepted her, that is all you need to know.”

Folding his arms, the other man who had been quiet the entire time so far, replied, “I've heard of red witches from the west. Burning innocents for their gods. With red hair like that, be sure to keep fire from her hands.”

Arrowhead's voice became deeper at the light threat and rumbled, “We have no need to be wary of her, but thank you for the warning.”

“Completely unnecessary warning at that.” Walking Crow growled out, adding to her defensive. The first stranger's eyes flickered over to him, and mocked, “Have you fallen for a witch then, brother?”

Walking Crow took a threatening step forward, coming shoulder to shoulder with his brother as he snarled, “We maybe be of the same lands, but you are no brother of mine. And she is under my protection.”

There was a heavy silence filling the air, and Sansa couldn't help but break it, lightly poking Walking Crow's back, “May we leave now? Please?”

Four eyes looked in her direction, and after being under the scrutiny of the viper's pit that was King's Landing Sansa found that it wasn't that terrifying in comparison. Two of them meant her no harm, and the others were just showing a curiosity for an outsider. She understood the caution, though the derision and slight accusations were unwarranted, and could not entirely fault them. Nonetheless, spotting the tension in all four men's body, as if ready to fight at any moment, Sansa wanted to diffuse the situation. And asking to leave was the best idea she had at that moment.

Luckily, after a long moment of staring at one another, the brothers began to usher her back towards the communal tipi. They made sure that Sansa was in front of them, putting themselves as a barrier between the men, and her shoulders fully relaxed the further they got.

Nibbling her lip, a nervous habit that she never seemed to get rid of, Sansa softly thanked them, “I'm grateful for your help. I'm sorry to cause a problem though, between the tribes.”

Arrowhead softly laughed, large hand coming up to gently pat her head, “A small argument is not enough to cause a rift between the tribes. We are not people willing to take up weapons just over a small slight. War is never a thing we want, so it's alright, little one.”

Ashamed still, Sansa continued to refute his words, “Still. You had to save me, again.”

Coming to walk ahead of her, Walking Crow solemnly declared, “I will always save you, Sansa.”

She couldn't help the way she stopped moving, watching his back as he continued forward. “So dramatic, brother.” Arrowhead muttered in amusement. Next to him, Sansa did not register the older brother's words. She could only marvel out how easily Walking Crow had declared that promise. Her people were all about large displays of loyalty, as if declaring you desire to keep someone safe was a show for an large audience. It was pageantry, and sometimes, empty words for the sake of title and honor. However, this boy, this young man, did not lay down a sword and recite poetry and vows to her. Just a simple sentence that got the point across.

He will always save her.

She couldn't know if he would ever have to follow through with that promise in the future. She hoped he wouldn't. And Sansa would never hold him to it, not knowing if she wanted to put her entire hope into a promise that could end up being an empty one. Still, the absolute confidence in his words gave a boost of strength to Sansa's heart, and she ducked her head down, hiding the smile that broke from her lips from the world.

Fawn found her writing to be fascinating, leaning against Sansa's shoulder in the evenings and watching the younger girl's neat and cursive penmanship. She, of course, did not understand. But that did not stop her from enjoying it, lightly following the curves of each word with a finger tip once the ink had dried. On the evening before the tribe moved on, heading to their village, Fawn had fallen asleep, head slumping down to Sansa's lap. Gently resting the journal against the side of the girl's head, Sansa smiled and continued with her writing, finding a way to express the out pour of emotions she had the day that Drumbeat comforted her after being teased.

Shifting movement was heard nearby, and Sansa was distracted from her writing to see Walking Crow taking a seat on her other side, snorting at the sight of the passed out girl on Sansa's lap. “You should have seen her as a child. She could sleep in any kind of environment. I once found her passed out in a field with the herd of sheep tucked around her. She was five.”

With an amused grin, Sansa added, “She would still do something like that. There was a group of children loudly playing next to her, and she was completely asleep on the dirt. It's a very...special talent.”

They shared a fond smile before Walking Crow's attention fell onto her writing. He too seemed fascinated, once asking her two nights ago to sound out each word in her language for him, and then translating it. It was a struggle, but helped her with her continual learning of their language. However, this evening he slowly reached a hand out and asked, “Can I draw something?”

For a split second, Sansa debated on whether or not she wanted her private journal to contain a mark of Walking Crow's upon it's pages. Before deciding that she would want that. He had already made such a mark on her life, he had a right to do so in her journal.

Wordlessly handing the book, and then the quill, Sansa watched, amused, as he moved over to an empty page, and struggle with handling the quill. His large hand looked more comfortable around a spear than a thin quill, but she observed that he held it with a gentle delicacy, not wanting to break it.

The young man concentrating, Sansa noted that his tongue peeked out as he started to draw, brows furrowed. At first, he pressed a bit too hard, a blot of ink marring the blank page, and he tensed, a noise of frustration leaving his lips. The smile from before did not leave her lips. Not as she reached over, and wrapped her smaller hand around his, the contrast of their skin stark in colouring. Softly, she guided him in how to hold the quill, tilting his hand and letting it hover over the page.

“Be gentle with it, as it can break the end, break the paper, or cause the...paint, to leak.”

Nodding, taking her instructions like a man hearing a battle plan, Walking Crow complied. This time when he laid the nip of the quill on the paper, he was much gentler. A hum of realisation left his throat, and with more confidence, he began to draw.

From the blot of ink, he spiraled out from there. After a few practiced strokes, it became an eye. It was as he continued to add lines to the paper and around the eye, that Sansa noted her hand was still on his, and eased off of it, not wanting to jar his movements and ruin the artwork.

As she moved her hand away, he paused for a moment, eyes still on the paper, before continuing. Mimicking Fawn, Sansa leant her head on his shoulder, enjoying the warmth of his skin on hers as he breathed life into the empty page. Wanting it to be a surprise though, Sansa closed her eyes, finding her mind drifting away at the soothing sound of the quill scratching the parchment. There were pauses here and there, Walking Crow dipping it into the ink pot, most likely copying her own movements he had observed in the past.

It was only as her name was called, shoulder gently shook, that Sansa opened her eyes. Sunlight streamed into the large tipi, a warm glow cast upon the occupants. Around her, people were packing away, and scrambling, Sansa followed to copy, not wanting to be caught lazing about when there was work to do. Haphazardly, her things were shoved into her sack, only being careful to make sure the ink was firmly corked before placing it in there along with her blankets.

Together, the tribe hefted and broke down the tipi, Sansa standing behind Fawn as they and two other tribe members carried one pole down and over to a cart. She was so caught up in the tasks, that she only remembered the night before when sitting in a cart with Fawn and Running Crane. Scrambling, Sansa tugged her bag to her and dug around until she pulled the journal from it's depths.

Eager, she harshly flipped through the pages, close to creasing them in her movements. Finally, she caught sight of the drawing in her flick through and was able to view it fully. The ink blot turned eye held a life to it that wasn't there before. Then, her tunnel vision expanded and her breath was caught in her chest.

A three-quarter profile of a wolf stared back at her. There was a proud way that it held it's head, a predator that knew it was dangerous. The line of fur were short and made in confident strokes, detailed and perfect in the way it created the shape of her house sigil.

And...that had her recalling how she haltingly explained houses and sigils to Walking Crow. He had listened intently as she told him about her mother and father's symbols, the trout and the direwolf. Wolf was easier to explain, making a quiet and embarrassed howling noise to indicate wolf. As for fish, she just made a simple drawing of one. Hopefully, she will come across an actual trout and learn the proper name of the animal in their language instead of just 'fish.'

Still, knowing that not only he kept that knowledge she gave him, but drew her house sigil within the depths of her journal had her heart racing. Lightly, her fingers traced the artwork, swearing to herself to cherish this drawing and journal for the rest of her life. Looking up, Sansa swiveled her head around the caravan of people until she caught onto Walking Crow upon his horse. He rode to the lower right of the group, some distance away, but enough to make out his form.

And as if feeling her eyes on him, he turned his steady gaze to her. Heat suddenly flooded her cheeks and Sansa had to snap her head away from him, heart beginning to race. So many emotions ran rampant in her chest that she couldn't figure out what they all were. But when she peeked back over to Walking Crow, and spotting the pleased smile that lightly adorned his features, Sansa figured it was emotions that she really did not want to even try and comprehend. It felt too earth shattering to acknowledge. So quietly, Sansa let her eyes linger on the drawing, before reverently closing the cover, and placing the journal neatly back in her bag.

Like when she would arrive and settle into the village, these emotions were for a later time to unpack. Sansa knew she was not ready for them just yet.

Chapter Text

They headed back through the mountains, taking a different path than the one towards the trading post. Sansa didn't mind it so much, being on the road again so soon. She found herself enjoying being in the mountains, in love with the breathtaking scenery and never finding herself growing bored of it.

She still took private glances towards Walking Crow after having found his drawing. Sansa did not want to take the time to comprehend what they meant, and still firmly kept any feelings or thoughts that felt like they were treading into dangerous water tucked in the back of her mind. She was still trying to learn who she was once more after everything that had happened, and any kind of entertainment on such thoughts were not helpful.

But that still didn't stop her from looking at him with admiration and curiosity though.

So between the scenery, writing in her new journal, and Walking Crow, Sansa found herself suitably distracted until they finally reached the village.

Like before, the mountains broke away into hills, towering pine trees becoming sparse to reveal a flat plain surrounded by the mountains. There was a relatively large lake close to the settlement, with farming fields on either side of the village, as well as a large flock of sheep dotted about the landscape. Their homes were more like huts, round in shape and brown. Frowning, Sansa noted as they neared, that they looked to be made of dried mud, thick wood, and stones.

The high-born part of her couldn't help but recoil in disgust until she got the rational part of her to rein it back in. These people lived very different lives and have shown her kindness they needn't to. It would be rude to judge them for how they live and Sansa was certain that the homes were well-decorated and very warm.

So, keeping as positive and non-judgmental as possible, Sansa peered over the cart walls to take it all in. Many, if not all, of the villagers came towards them slowly, ready to welcome the rest of their tribe with open arms and smiling faces. The excitement she felt from all of the tribe she had traveled with had her uncertain when the cart halted and she hopped out. Tense and hesitant, Sansa watched as Fawn immediately took off, letting out an unintelligible cry as she ran and leapt at a woman who could be around the same age as Forest Water. The woman laughed and fully embraced the girl.

An ache that was less dark than jealously rolled through her. Yearning. An aching desire to have a mother to do the same with again. She tried to think about the last time she hugged her mother, had embraced with such wild exuberance, uncaring of decorum.

She couldn't remember.

It was like slowly, over time, all the good memories from when her family was together and whole, were disappearing. Being replaced with only vague images and sensations, as well as the more recent events she had been through. When she thought of her mother, she saw the sadness and private hug they shared the night before she left for King's Landing. When she thought of her mother, she heard the horrible, detailed, report Joffrey gave her when she found out the news of her mother's death.

So lost in thought, Sansa hadn't realised tears were beginning to slip down her face, eyes locked onto the hugging pair.

The hit of warmth on her chilled cheeks dragged her from them, and she hastily wiped them away, not wanting her first introduction to the rest of the tribe to be her sobbing her heart out. Sniffling once, Sansa straightened up and slowly began to walk towards Fawn, who was already turning towards the approaching girl.

“Auntie, this is Sansa! Drumbeat found her on a beach and now she is part of our family!”

When the woman's dark eyes landed on Sansa, the girl couldn't help but bob into a curtsy, “They have been all so welcoming. Fawn has been a good friend to me.”

The aunt stared her down blanked face for one long moment, eyes tracing Sansa's paler skin and red hair, obviously taking in her strange appearance in comparison to the rest of the tribe. Sansa fidgeted, hands wringing nervously. Then, she slowly softened, speaking in a pitch lower than a typical woman's, “I'm glad Fawn has been a good friend. You will be with us from now on then?”

And the woman turned to Running Crane, who was making her way to them, directing the question to her mother. The elder nodded, “The Chief has welcomed her into the tribe, and as I was the one who spoke some of her first tongue, she has been under my responsibility.” Then, the elder woman gave Sansa a small, but proud, smile, “Sansa has been a quick learner, and she is a good girl.”

Satisfied with Running Crane's glowing report of Sansa's character, the aunt turned to her and introduced herself, “I am Quick With Water, Fawn's aunt.”

As Sansa had steadily studied the language, she had learnt the meanings of some of the names, most she could easily translate into her first one. So when her mind heard the name, and ran through it with westerosi, she found the aunt's name to be one of the most peculiar name that she had heard so far. Sansa knew that names were very important. Many in the tribe having a name different to the one given to them at birth, earning it through a ceremony or ritual or a life changing event.

Secretly, Sansa wished to have a name bestowed upon her, so desperate to fit in. But that was a fruitless hope. She may have had been welcomed into their tribe, but she would never be fully one of them.

Casting those sad thoughts aside, Sansa smiled at Quick With Water, “It's good to meet you. I will do my best to not be a burden on your kindness.”

Quick With Water furrowed her brows momentarily, before they relaxed. Nodding once, she jerked her chin to their cart, “Come along then. Best we unpack before the dinner tonight.”

The girls scampered to comply to her words, beginning to lead the horse and their cart after the two women.

Sansa tried her best to not pay attention to the eyes she drew, keeping her head resolutely forward, calm as possible. This felt different to when she joined the campsite. This was their home. This felt more monumental, an outsider brought in. Her skin itched though, similar to when in King's Landing and under so much scrutiny. She was being judge and opinions were being made upon her from first sight. Sansa only hoped they concluded she was not a threat.

Led to one of the many circular huts, Sansa observed that it was tall, a good seven feet at least, with thick furs blocking the entryway. More up close than before, she realised it wasn't actually mud, but dark, dried grass, stacked in rows on the roof and walls. The wooden frames seemed sturdy enough, and there were large stones placed at the base of any wooden poles, keeping them firmly in place. Helping Fawn gather some of their packs and bundles off the cart, Sansa followed her in, ducking under the doorway and peering wide eyed around the interior.

It was quite large, though dim lighted, with enough room for the four of them as well as space to easily move about. In the middle was a fire pit dug into the ground with a metal tripod over the pit for a pot or kettle to hang off of. It was a little shocking, as Sansa hadn't seen metal in the tribe besides some of the weapons, though most weapons were carved stone. They must have gotten it from the trading post, as now thinking about it, Sansa did recall seeing some on the stalls. Jaxton had many trades under his belt, including metal working, so the tripod was either created by his hand or his predecessor. 

Following Fawn as she led her to a barren looking cot towards the back, Sansa set her bundle down next to it and couldn't help but curiously peer at the fire pit. She noticed there was no hole in the roof, like the openings in the tipis, and wondered at how their entire place doesn't become smoked out. Even now there was a small fire crackling away in it, and couldn't help the sound of befuddlement that left her mouth as she wandered over to it.

Quick With Water, noticing the noise, came over. Looking at her, Sansa wondered, “How is there no smoke?”

“Ah,” Quick With Water realised softly, before crouching down besides Sansa and pointed at a hole in the side of the pit she hadn't noticed before. “The smoke goes through that hole, to the outside. As long as it doesn't become blocked off, and they usually don't because we check all the time, then no smoke except for a little fills the home.”

“I see. I never knew you could do that. It's like a chimney.” Sansa muttered to herself, still observing the fire pit until Fawn tossed a balled up blanket at her head.

“Hey, don't leave me to do all the work!” She groused, but the smile on her lips told Sansa she was just playing.

Getting up with her own smile, Sansa went back to unpacking, letting the aunt direct her to where things should be placed. Like with the tipi, the dwelling was mainly for sleep and eating, most activities to be done outside. Or at least, that was what she figured, as she did not know how bad the winters could get. Didn't know if they would be bundled up inside the home for weeks on end until it was warm enough to leave without catching your death.

When everything was inside, and Fawn was leading the horse and cart to the directed area, Sansa stayed behind and began to lay out her cot and blankets next to the other girl's one. Then, next to the pillow, she set down the wicker-basket that Running Crane had guided her through making. Inside held the small possessions she had collected over the last few months such as pretty rocks and feathers, another set of clothes, her journal and writing materials, and the half made sweater she was knitting for herself.

She had managed to wrangle some balls of blue died yarn, and with her requesting some knitting needles from Arrowhead, as he was a very good wood carver, Sansa was almost brimming with excitement with how it would turn out. It shall be wonderful in keeping her warm, and she was ecstatic that it was a blue shade close to the Tully house colours. A little piece of home and her mother would be with her in these coming cold months ahead. She even had plans – if she found thread thin enough and of the right colour – to embroider some poppies and trout onto it tastefully.

Thinking to herself, as she began to empty a basket of cooking supplies to be in the designated area by the fire, Sansa wondered if she could find some more wool to make Fawn a sweater too. A deep green would look wonderful on her.

A week slowly went by, the tribe settling back into a full one, a single unit, no longer separated, and Sansa went into adjusting mode again. It wasn't so different as before, just with much more people. More people that she needed to prove to that she was capable and not a burden once more.

Following after Quick With Water, Fawn, or Running Crane, Sansa helped where she was directed. She helped to spin wool into yarn. She pulled up nets of fish from the lake with other tribe members, arms becoming soaked and muscles trembling from the weight. She hefted sacks of food to and fro, and never once complained. She sometimes wanted to, but kept her mouth shut.

She may be a lady by birth and raised as one, but here, it did not matter. Even the Chief helped around the village, preparing for winter. Everyone offered a hand in jobs and task, no one dallying or lazing about except for when the days were winding down to the night, rest finally allowed.

It was hard work, and more was sure to come.

However, what kept her motivated that first week, was the knowledge that she would be able to gain the first markings of the woman. They did not have a skin-inker within the section of the tribe that was traveling, she was with the village instead. So it was decided that after a week of settling back in, Sansa would be brought to the woman's tent and go through the first of three ceremonies.

The night before, excitement and terror clawing in her chest, Sansa was not allowed to eat. Part of the ritual was a type of fasting, only allowed to eat berries and nuts provided in the hut, as well as a combination of tea leaves steeped in hot water.

Rolled over on her side to face Fawn, the girl whispered softly to Sansa, “I'm kind of jealous of you, Sansa. I'm older but I have not started my bleeding yet like you.”

Uncertainty and fear welling up, Sansa stuttered out, “I'm sorry, Fawn. I-”

In a whisper, frantic but still keeping her voice down, Fawn reassured her, “No, don't apologise. It's not your fault for the way your body works. We're all different. I've just been really wanting my markings for years, and I'm nearly fifteen. Just wishing my body would hurry up, you know?”

Making a face, Sansa muttered, “Bleedings aren't all that fun, Fawn.” However, it was a relief to know the other girl was not angry at her. Just a bit wistful and aching for the chance to grow up faster. Sansa wished she could tell Fawn not to wish her childhood away like Sansa did.

Fawn sighed, slightly aggravated, slightly understanding, “I know that. Just, want to get it over with. Instead of just constantly waiting.”

“I wish mine came a lot later. It-it wasn't the best experience.” Sansa admitted to her friend.

Humming curiously, Fawn shuffled closer until their breaths nearly intermingled, “You don't talk much about your home. I know it wasn't nice, that people hurt you but...” As she trailed off, Fawn bit her lips, as if unsure she had overstepped with Sansa.

Sansa, however, looked away, down at where she could almost see the threads of her blanket in the darkness, “I don't really like thinking about it.” It was a low voice, one that spoke of 'please don't ask, I don't wish to speak.'

Rushed, Fawn assured her, “I know! Just, could you tell me something about it? Something that is, like, different to the tribe?” Though still a whisper, her tone rose a pitch, showing her interest into Sansa's life from before.

Sansa sometimes wondered if there was any possible way to truly describe what life was like in Westeros, and just how wildly different it really was. Especially when Sansa still did not have a full grasp on the language, and that there were somethings that just did not translate. However, seeing how Fawn's dark eyes glimmered in the darkness with bright, hungry desire to know more, Sansa thought on a topic that was neutral and did not pick at any loose seams in her heart. “Hm...alright. So, ranking is very important in my land. There are people who are of...high blood?”

“High blood?” Fawn echoed, confusion obvious.

Grasping for the right words, Sansa tried to explain, “Like, people who have a high ranking due to the family and blood they are born into.”

Baffled, Fawn stated, “But- Everyone is the same. We are all people-”

A little irked at the lack of understanding, Sansa interrupted, “Yes, but that is not how it is in my home land.” Then, taking a breath to calm the irritation, it wasn't Fawn's fault for not understanding the cultural differences after all, Sansa tried to re-explain, better detailed this time, “My father...he was like a chief, right? A large land was under his command, along with other chiefs, but with slightly lower ranking. They all fell under him, he was in charge of them. So, I was born with high blood. I am a very well known person in my lands because of it. And when the war broke out, I became even more well known because my brother became King.”

“Kin-king?” The Westeros word was stumbled over, foreign on the other girl's tongue. Sansa had a thought about maybe trying to teach Fawn her language one day, but then pushed it away to focus on the conversation.

“If my father was a higher chief, then a King is the highest ranking you can achieve. Once my brother became that, I became a Princess. Which is also higher than my father's rank, but lower than my brother's.”

A lull of silence as Sansa waited for the information to sink in for Fawn. Then, she dead-panned, “I am so confused by your system. So complicated.”

An exasperated sigh left her, but an amused smile played on Sansa's lips as she agreed wryly, “Yeah, I guess it is. But that was how I was raised. I was to marry a King at one point. But...I'm relieved I didn't. He was the one who killed my father. He didn't raise the weapon, but he gave the order.”

That little bit of personal information had Fawn's attitude changing to something less playful, softly replying, “A cowards move. If you are to take a life, you do it yourself. You must take the responsibility of the life you take.”

From under the blankets, Sansa wiggled her hand free to snake under Fawn's. Understanding what she was doing, Fawn reached out and they clasped hands tightly. Tiredly, Sansa muttered, “This is why I respect your people more. Less complicated and more honorable.”

They fell into a silence again, and Sansa thought that perhaps they could go to sleep now. She was actually finally growing exhausted, her energy from before dwindling. However, Fawn drawled out, “So...does this mean you are higher ranking then me?”

A small snort, and Sansa remarked, “Only in my home land. Here, we are equal, right?” She did not like how the last part came out more fragile, more uncertain, than she had hoped.

Though most definitely noticing her insecurity, Fawn did not address it, exuberantly agreeing, “Right! You are my little sister, so confused by the world and I am your guide!”

Grinning, Sansa teased her, “Alright, don't shoot the arrow before you see the prey there. Arrogance is not a good look on you.”

Fawn giggled quietly, and Sansa joined in, until Quick With Water growled out tiredly, “Sleep. Now.”

They both let out small squeaks and snapped their eyes shut. A smile still played on Sansa's lips though until her mind faded into sleep.

Led into another hut the next morning by Running Crane, Sansa's hands started to wring nervously. She was tempted to back out, knowing that this was a decision she could not reverse. A permanent marking, somewhere that was not hidden easily at that too. However, what had her steeling her spine was how much she wanted to give a better meaning to her moonblood. She didn't want it all to revolve around that first time, dragged from her room, terrified and humiliated. Cersei, for once, had actually been soft to her, helping into a bath, cleaning her hair and telling her how to deal with the pain. But where in one hand she gave kind wisdom, she also gave horrific warnings.

Running Crane had soothed those fears for her though, giving her something more stable and less scary to hold onto and build a better foundation of knowledge on. And this ceremony was like the final step to fully shedding all the things Cersei had taught her.

Stepping into the hut, Running Crane staying outside, Sansa was met with a wrinkled woman, full markings of the woman on her face, and then some. She had more branching on her arms, sleeves rolled up. She knew that all markings held meaning, but felt it too impolite to ask. Instead, she sat down across from her, shifting the bundle of clothes and supplies for the next couple of days from her shoulder, and greeted her with a deep bow of her head in respect.

“Hello, elder. I am Sansa Stark, and I am honored you are giving me this opportunity.”

“Not many, if any, outsiders have this opportunity.” The elder stated, a bland voice though old with age.

Gnawing her bottom lip, Sansa kept her eyes low as she promised, “I will do my best to honor this privilege. I promise to not take it for granted.”

She leant back a bit in response, assessing Sansa as she probed for information, “And why have you decided to get these markings. As an outsider, you do not need to, despite going through the week in the moon tipi. So I wonder why.”

Taking a deep breath, Sansa explained, “My previous experience with my bleeding has not been good. For me, it meant terror and fear for the future. In my lands, once a woman bleeds, she is ready to be married and...given to her husband. I-I was scared, for the night where my husband would-”

“So this is a way to reclaim your body as your own.” She cut Sansa off, getting to the point.

Nodding furiously, Sansa agreed, “Yes.”

“Good.” And glancing up, Sansa spotted that there was faint approval in her wise eyes, “I am Standing Tree. And I will be taking care of you for the next three days.”

Smiling through her nerves, Sansa replied, “I am in your care, Standing Tree.”

She nodded once, then directed Sansa over to a cot to lay down on. Her heart jack-hammered in her chest as she complied, trying to shake off how weak her legs felt. Eyes fixed on the ceiling of the hut, Sansa waited as the woman moved about, gathering the necessary supplies and preparing for the ritual.

Then, coming to sit on her knees at Sansa's shoulder, Standing Tree held a wooden bowl to Sansa's lips. After a moment of hesitation, smelling the strong musk of the drink – tea Sansa concluded – she opened her mouth and sipped.

Drinking the whole bowl down in steady gulps, Sansa grimaced when it was over, the taste not the most pleasant, but licked her lips to get the last of the tea off them. Then, Standing Tree brought another wooden object to her, a small bowl with a lid, dipped her fingers into it.

She brought out a thick salve, slight yellow-green in colour, and started to slather it in a heavy coat over her jaw, chin, and lips.

“This will numb the pain of the needles.” Standing Tree explained throughout the process, and Sansa fought the urge to nod in understanding. She instead made a humming noise in the back of her throat.

After applying a generous amount of the salve, she set it aside, wiped her hands, and then reached over for what Sansa assumed, with lurch of her heart, to be the instruments for the mark making. A bone sharpened to a wicked point, and a thick, blunt wooden stick.

She...had no idea how this process was going to go. Sansa really had decided to jump into the deep end with this decision. However, she was already here, and there was no backing out now.

Closing her eyes as the sharp point was brought to hover over her chin, Standing Tree softly said, “This may hurt, but the pain is only temporary. The markings, however, is a pride to wear for life and into death.”

The cool professionalism of the older woman, had Sansa's shoulder relaxing. Only a little though. However, the words of wisdom rang through her head, and she tucked it away to forever remember. But, right now there was still going to be a needle stabbing her face many times until the ink stayed in her skin permanently. And that was petrifying.

As the tip settled on her skin, Sansa closed her eyes tightly, taking a sudden breath in, just as the wooden stick was raised.

It hurt. Running Crane had not lied, and for that Sansa was thankful. However, hearing it, and then experiencing it, were two vastly different things. The salve truly did well in numbing her skin, but after the first session, the salve losing it's affects, Sansa was left with a prolonged, burning pain in her chin. It was difficult to eat and chew, skin moving and causing sharp twinges of pain with every bite. But she persisted.

She stayed strong through the pain, no worse than the blows from the King's Guards. Sansa wanted to get through this process, and come out stronger. For her, it was to prove to herself, and to the tribe in some way, that she could do this. That she was strong, no matter what the Lannisters had said. No matter how much of an outsider she was. She was strong.

In the time that passed, it was a hazy blur of pain and being sat up to eat and relieve herself, dazed and confused. Standing Tree was clinical and calm through it all, not one for much speaking besides some direction that needed to be given. The bundle Sansa had brought, a way to pass the time, had not been touched, spending most of the days with the needle or fast asleep. She figured that the tea given made her drowsy along with helping heal with every prick of the needle.

But she came out of the other end of the ordeal stronger than she had felt in years. Something about these markings made her feel more secure in herself and place in the world. She may feel on the outskirts of the tribe, may be a continent away from home, and her family all gone barring two, but she seemed to have gained another piece of who she was, and who she will become in the future.

She was a growing woman now. She could carry children if she so wished, and she knew it would be on her terms. No one else's.

She was Sansa. She was a Stark and a Tully by blood and tradition. Now, she was a woman by the Red Buffalo's traditions. Slowly, Sansa was gathering those pieces, collecting them in slow increments, and couldn't wait to see what the full puzzle would look like once all the pieces were interlocked.

After being lectured on how to care for the dark line that ran from the bottom of her lip to the tip of chin, given a wooden pot filled with a honey-like substance, Sansa was quite unceremoniously shoved out of the hut. Standing Tree did not seem to be one for company Sansa concluded.

Holding her bundle of supplies in her arms and standing once more back outside, Sansa blinked, bewildered, and couldn't stop herself from squinting from the bright late autumn sunlight. The hut had been quite dark besides the fire that burnt. She wondered how the woman could see what she was doing in such poor lighting.

“Sansa!”

The call of her name had her spinning around, stumbling from the tea and being laid out for so long, and grinned wide at the sight of Fawn, and another girl she did not know but also had the first marking of the woman on her chin, as they approached her. Her tribe-sister almost tackled her to the ground in her exuberance. Fawn held her tightly, simultaneously congratulating Sansa and whining in one breath.

“I still can't believe I'm older and still not having the marking! But you look so beautiful with it!”

Amused, Sansa nuzzled her head into the crook of the girl's neck, unable to hug back with her arms occupied. Fawn hummed in happiness, before pulling away.

“I've been meaning to introduce you,” Fawn began, tugging Sansa over to the other girl, “This is Fox. She is the Chief's daughter.”

Sansa almost wanted to fall into a curtsy, not knowing if she was supposed to hold the same amount of respect for the girl as she does for the Chief. However, Fox only smiled, gave a friendly wave, and said, “Had a fun time with Standing Tree?”

Wincing, Sansa delicately replied, “She...was pleasant enough.”

Fox snorted, “That's one way to put it. She's an ornery old woman, but still one of the best ink-markers in the tribe. I pity Black Hand for being her apprentice.”

A few of the words the other girl spoke Sansa wasn't too sure of, but got the general gist of it, so she smiled and nodded in agreement.

Fox, after Fawn's insistence of them all taking a chance to sit and eat by the communal fire, Sansa found to be a wonderful girl. Only a year older than Sansa, but still younger than Fawn. She was clever, a sharp wit to her that made Sansa completely understand her name. Apparently, it was not the one given to her at birth, having gone through a ceremony that had her bequeathed with a new name by the Medicine Man.

She seemed to be friendly with everyone, giving the same treatment for Sansa as with the rest of the tribes people, and the red head was happy to have another friend in the tribe.

In the middle of a conversation, Sansa heard the low call of her name again, and twisted to look behind her from where she was sat on the ground, her twin braids flying, to see Walking Crow stood a foot away. Her stomach fluttered at the sight of him, and Sansa shoved the queasiness down to give him a welcoming smile.

“Hello, Walking Crow.”

He crouched down, and arm stretching out, his hand laid gently on her left cheek, taking in her new facial inking and being careful not the touch the tender skin. The scrutiny of his dark eyes was heavy, piercing, but lacked any judgment. However, Sansa still couldn't help the nerves, desperate for his approval, and nearly sighed in relief when he nodded to himself, “It looks good, Sansa. Strong line, no bleeding of the ink.”

“Like Standing Tree would allow that.” Fox snarked back.

Walking Crow cracked a smirk at the girl, “You're not wrong.” Then, his smirk faded to a soft smile at Sansa, “I'm proud of you. You are becoming part of the tribe more and more everyday.”

“Thank you, Walking Crow.” Sansa softly replied, cheeks warm.

Watching him walk away, Sansa decided her mind should focus on the more simpler things than how hot her skin felt even after he withdrew his hand, the touch lingering. She focused on how relieved she was that he was finally wearing a shirt.

She did not notice the shared glance between the other two girls as she watched Walking Crow's retreating form.

During one of the many times she helped gather and prepare fish for the winter, Sansa asked one of the men to tell her the types of fish. She did not know his name, and he seemed more on the very, very silent type. More silent than Forest Water.

In a low, deep voice, he pointed and named them gruffly. Some she sort of recognised, but many she didn't, not being an expert in anything fish related besides how to eat it politely. But it was always good to add more vocabulary to her learning. Then, he landed on a fish she knew very well from sight alone.

“Trout.”

Murmuring to herself, she repeated it under her breath, feeling like a revelation had bloomed in her chest. She could now say both of her parent's house sigils in their language. Another piece of her identity seemed to come back in that moment.

After helping out, Sansa dashed through the village eagerly, searching for any familiar face she could declare her discovery, and landed on Drumbeat. He was in the middle of patching up the wooden stable to hold the horses and sheep for the cold season, and Sansa ran up to him, practically bouncing in place until he turned his focus from the wooden nail he was hammering in to her.

With a dark eyebrow quirked in interest, Sansa beamed. “I know my mother's family symbol! It's a trout! Like my father's is a wolf!”

He smiled in return, a flash of white teeth, “Congratulations, Sansa. I'm happy for you.”

She did a little twirl in giddy excitement before throwing her arms around his firm waist. A low chuckle, and his large arms returned the gesture. She missed his hugs even though it's only been a few weeks since the last one. She made a note to get more in the future at a more frequent pace.

From then on, Drumbeat at times took to calling her 'Little Trout' in that soft, fond voice of his. A parental one that her father sometimes used with her when they talked. For so long, she was a Stark. Her father's child. The Stark Girl, as the Lannisters called her. However, Sansa was always wanting to know more of the South and of her mother's family. Because she may be a Stark, but the other half of her blood will always be a Tully. And she would wear the name with pride.

She never understood the Stark words, feeling like a warning, but hard to take into account with her everyday life. Her mother's were more concrete and easier to follow. Family. Duty. Honor. In that order. And Sansa knew that though she had forsaken her family once, and caused it to all fall apart with that stupid mistake, she would never fail those words again. She would put family first, always.

And now, though still feeling very much like an outsider, the tribe was her family. And she would do her very best to protect it.

Chapter Text

A month into living in the village, frost began to dust the trees and grass in the morning, making a lovely and familiar crunching sound with every step. By afternoon it would have melted away, but a chill still kept in the air. Sansa enjoyed seeing her breath. And it was on one of those grass frosted days, that Fawn woke up to blood on her cot.

Sansa was awake before the girl, contently helping Quick With Water, with breakfast, and was periodically sniffling. When the woman gave her an arched brow look, Sansa waved her off. She normally got a bit sniffly in the winter, so she wasn't too concerned. Going back to breakfast, she was cracking eggs onto a heavy skillet, listening to it sizzle on the animal fat, as shuffling from the other girl's bed alerted to her wakefulness.

There was movement. A sudden pause. Then a flurry of blankets flying off her body as Fawn sat up sharply, and pulled at the bottom of her sleeping dress. Everyone in the home paused, watching her with bated breath as the girl slowly looked up at them. A mixture of joy and dread warred on her face.

“Ah, shit. I was going to go swimming later.”

“Oh you silly girl!” Quick With Water chided, but got up to hurry over to her niece, a fond smile on her lips.

Running Crane also shuffled over to Fawn's other side and together, the two women helping to stand the girl between them. Still sat by the fire, Sansa watched with a bemused smile as they began to shuffle Fawn out of the hut. Sansa knew that most things would be provided in the moon tipi, so when they didn't stop to gather much besides some clothes, she wasn't too concerned.

At the door way though, Running Crane turned to face her, “Will you be alright alone here, Sansa? I can stay if you wish-”

Waving her hands in a frantic shooing motion, Sansa exclaimed, “Please don't! Fawn needs you and you want to do this with her. I will be fine.” Sansa did her best to reassure the older woman. A weird hope of wanting her to argue back and Sansa would inevitably give in, warring with wanting Running Crane to not see Sansa as a burden and helpless. Sansa could live by herself for a week. She would be fine. And after one long, lingering look, Running Crane nodded and departed with the other two without another word.

Left alone, Sansa stared at the doorway for awhile, before turning back to the eggs, shoulders slumping in a little. It seemed she would have to eat them all herself now. She could technically visit the moon tipi, but she did not want to intrude on familial moment. Running Crane only helped her because there was no one else and Sansa was under her charge. However, for Fawn, this was something she was looking forward to, and Sansa would not interrupt that bonding between the females.

On the other hand, Sansa hadn't been alone like this in...almost never. Belying certain circumstances, like when she was washed ashore, or praying in the Godswood, she was almost always surrounded by guards or servants, or now, with other tribe members. She was never really alone.

It settled heavily in her stomach, a bitter taste in her mouth. Sansa did not like being alone after being so used to company. The sounds around her were hollow, a white noise she never really noticed until now. After eating, Sansa decided to herself she would be quick about joining the rest of the tribe in chores and tasks. She may be without her closer people, but she wasn't alone when there was a tribe on the other side of the doorway.

Throughout the day, Sansa kept herself on her feet, running back and forth, only pausing to eat. After washing Fawn's stained blanket, she helped with smoking some meat, squatting and fanning the smoke into the drying meat, making sure to cough over her shoulder and not on the food. She carried large bundles of hay into the stable for the animals, giving it over to some men who were lifting it into a small, low loft. It would be stored for the winter, a plentiful amount to feed the horses, sheep, and goats. Sometimes, when she turned or stood up a little too fast, a wave of dizziness hit her. She had to pause, take a sip of her water skein, before carrying on with her tasks. And instead of going back into the hut to eat alone, Sansa sat near the communal fire, blankets wrapped around her, and stayed out until she was basically the last one there, desperate to not by herself for as long as possible.

She knew she was prolonging the inevitable. Sansa just did not want to go back to a home that was empty. Shivering and watching the flames beginning to die, Sansa sneezed, sniffled, and looked up pathetically at the approaching Arrowhead.

He crouched down and gave her a stern look, “You will become sick out here, little trout.”

“I am from the north. We do not get sick from the cold. It is in our blood.” Sansa sniffled imperiously. Then sniffled again to stop the dribble of snot, trying to wipe it discreetly on her sleeve.

The man sighed, and reached over, beginning to tug Sansa up. Whining, but complying, Sansa was dragged back to her hut. She clutched the blankets around her and couldn't help grumbling, her head slowly beginning to pound. “Thought Walking Crow would be here. He's always here at my weakest.” Sansa muttered quietly.

Arrowhead huffed, amused. “My brother has been held back due to his currently injured ankle.”

Straightening up, Sansa stumbled to get closer to the man, peering up at him to ask worriedly, “He's hurt?” Then to herself she mumbled guiltily, “I didn't even notice he wasn't around...”

Continuing on like she hadn't spoken in her first language, Arrowhead gave a reassuring smile, “He will be walking by tomorrow. Just a dull ache now, but we did not want it to get worse.”

“How did it happen?”

“...He stepped into a rabbit hole.”

Sansa snorted loudly, then regretted it as she had to dig into her pockets for a handkerchief. Blowing her nose loudly, Sansa sniffled, wiped it a few times, and looked up as they stopped outside her hut. Miserable, Sansa walked into a cold hut, and shuffled past the fire place, not really caring to go through the trouble of lighting it. Instead, she layered up on the blankets on her cot and tried to fall asleep.

Arrowhead, having followed her in, was nice enough to crouch down and light a small fire for her. Slowly, the heat filled the room, and once settling in a vertical position, her chest spasmed and Sansa fell into a coughing fit. The rattling sounds of her lungs, the hacking and heavy coughs, filled the hut. It was like after finally having a second to rest from a day of trying to distract herself from being lonely, her body decided now would be the best time to grow sick.

When the fit died down, Sansa felt a cool hand on her forehead, and hummed in relief at the sensation. “You are burning up, little trout. It would be best to join me and my family in our home.” Sansa shook her head at his suggestion, dislodging the hand in the process, “No, I will be fine. I just need to sleep. It's alright.”

“Sansa...”

“It's late,” She pointed out tiredly, eye lids drooping shut. “Best go back to you home." 

He hesitated, before nodding, “I will check on you tomorrow morning, little trout.”

Sansa hummed in acknowledgment, mumbling to him as he stood up, “Tell Walking Crow I said hello. I should have noticed...” Trailing off, Sansa couldn't string anymore words together as she drifted off into darkness.

It was cold.

It was so terribly cold.

Everything ached. She hurt.

A whine escaped her, low and weak, and with it, she coughed.

It was cold. But she felt so horribly hot.

It was suffocating.

Besides the amplified pains in her body, everything else was dulled, and she heard nothing but the sound of her heart in her ears, and the trembling breaths after each cough.

She wanted her mother.

A whine, less about her bodily pain, more emotional, resounded around hut, and tears started to slip out from behind closed eyes.

She felt so weak, she couldn't even open her eyelids.

In such a permanent state of pain and sickness, Sansa was not sure how long may have passed before a loud call of her name. Practically glued shut by sleep, it took a few seconds to pry her eyes open, unable to use her arms as they did not want to move.

When they finally opened, Sansa's vision was hazy, only blurs of shapes in darkness. She saw a large figure, but could not understand what they were saying. They were loud. A loud concern. For some reason, Sansa relaxed at it. It was a nice loud concern. Like when her mother would yell at Bran for climbing so high. She was loud in her worry for his safety. Mother had never yelled at her. Not like that. Sansa was so well-behaved. She wished mother yelled her concern at her.

The sensation of being touched hurt, skin sensitive that she hissed in pain, as arms wrapped around her. Then, weightless, as she was held close to a body. In her ears, she heard not only her heart, but another. Pressed against the heart, the thumpthump-thump, thumpthump-thump of it's drum beat had her being lulled back to sleep, until movement jarred her from her almost slumber.

Noises were now louder, a burst of cold on her exposed skin, and some bright light behind her eye lids had Sansa squeezing them shut tighter. Everything hurt. She was cold. She was hot.

There was talking but she had no idea what the words were. They sounded familiar but with how it felt like her head was going to become mush, Sansa could not figure out what they were saying. Instead, she pressed her face into the person who – after a long moment of gathering some of her mushy thoughts to put two and two together – was carrying her. They felt like a kind of safety she hadn't felt in so long, like their arms were a shelter against the world outside of them.

When the bright light disappeared, taking the cold with it, Sansa found some strength to crack her eyes open. She was in another hut. A warmer one too. Sansa tried to get her bearings, to know where she was, but with her sight too blurry, her sense of smell blocked, and mind too mushy and stuffed with cotton, she wasn't even able figure out how to speak much less know where she was.

Movement slowed to a stop though, as she felt her weak and trembling body laid gently onto a soft and cushioned surface. It was nice against her sensitive skin. However the safety of the arms began to retract, and in a fit of desperation, Sansa managed to fumble and latch onto them. A weak hold that they could pull from, so Sansa whimpered out, “Please...stay.”

“Sansa-” And the sound of her name was filled with a sadness that had her panicking.

“Don't go, please. I will be good. I promise. I will be good, don't leave me please!” She slurred out her pleading words, fingers scrambling to find grip onto the person. She didn't want to be alone. She was a good girl. Good girls don't get left alone.

Warmth encased her hand, and with more strength than her currently, they made her fingers release them. Sniffling, Sansa began to cry. Warbling out more 'please' and 'I will be better' and 'don't leave me, I'm scared.'

Something brushed against her head, a soothing pet of her hair, before they spoke, “I wish to stay but I can't. You will be taken care of here. I promise.”

She knew the words but didn't at the same time. A lack of their presence, as they got up and left, had Sansa giving a weak sob, eyes opening again to watch their retreating back, she whispered, “Father, come back please...”

There was a pause in their step, before they continued out. And her outstretched hand fell limply onto the ground as everything went black once more.

So cold.

They were so cold.

Where was the warmth?

They weren't alone before, so why were they now?

Nothing smelt familiar.

They were so cold. So hungry.

Please, they cried. Where are you. I'm scared. I'm cold. Come back. Where are you.

Sansa cracked open her gunky eyes, and struggled against the weight of blankets around her. Something called out to her. She heard it. Blinking around the unfamiliar hut, Sansa only lingered in the thought of where she was, before she pushed herself weakly up, nearly collapsing as she got her feet from under her.

Something called out to her. She heard it. They were abandoned. Alone. Cold. She had to go to it.

The calling had her leaving the hut, and hissing out at the sudden snow that pelted her body and face. The cold was a shock, her mind jolting into a wakefulness. Night time. It was night time and the snow was glowing, the sky that purple-grey colour when it snowed, giving a light to the darkness.

The cries echoed in her mind, and she did not stop to think about how her feet were bare. Instead, she walked. Shuffling through some thick inches of snow, her eyes were mostly closed and letting instinct lead her. Where ever it was calling from, Sansa knew it. She couldn't say where, but she could walk to the destination.

Past huts and into the forest that neared the village, Sansa marched forward. She could not stop. Time was running out, and she had to get to them. They would die without her help. However, she felt so weak, and had to brace herself on a tree to hack up a cough, breath wheezing in exertion. When the fit ended, and she tried to straighten up, her hand slipped on the slick bark and a flash of pain in her hand brought her back to the present once more.

Eyes narrowed around the snow that drifted towards them, Sansa peered into the forest, and felt that she was close. Ignoring the pain and the cold and the aching she continued forward. Her body was hunched forward, trying to preserve any bit of warmth she had, arms wrapped around her body. She was so tired, stumbling and nearly tripping over roots and branches. She was tired but she had to get to them. They called for her. They hurt like her. They were alone like her. How could she leave them to die?

The call felt the strongest then before when she came to a halt in front of a rocky formation, snow dusting it's grey surface. There was a hole, a small entrance close to the ground, and she could fit in it, if she wiggled.

Collapsing to her knees, Sansa ignored the cold wetness that seeped into her clothes and to her skin as she crawled through the tunnel. It was terrifying. She had no idea where it would lead. No idea when it would end.

But it did end. Her body went through and came crawling out into a small, dark, cave. It was musty, a thick scent of animal around her. An animal's home.

Tension crawled up her body, not just the cold making her shiver, and she tried to focus her hearing, trying to pick up any movement. Any sound.

And she did.

Not a growl of an angry and defensive bear. But a whimper. Quiet and helpless.

It came from the left of her, and blindly, Sansa reached out, shuffling towards it. The closer she got the louder it whined. She knew it was scared. She could feel it deep in her chest.

Lowering down, her hands brushed against something small and furry, and it squeaked, tiny little snout nuzzling and licking with it's small tongue at her hand. Distantly, she knew it was the hand that she had injured, but did not care. It was some sort of sustenance that could help it's hunger pains until she got some proper milk in it.

Reaching down, Sansa picked it up. She fumbled her cold fingers into the collar of her clothes, tugging it down enough to hold the shivering animal to her bare chest. It was warmer then her damp clothes. It snuggled close, and sitting back, exhausted, Sansa focused on the beating of it's tiny little heart. Fluttering like quick wing beats of a bird. A tiny little bird. All alone in the large and cold world.

Closing her eyes, not like they were any help in the darkness, Sansa's entire senses came to a sharp point around the animal she held.

New warmth.

New smell.

No longer alone.

Large thumping in their ears, they were different from the warmth of before.

The hunger had only abated a little. A strange taste.

Slowly, Sansa cracked her eyes open, and wondered. She wondered. And she began the struggle of crawling through the tunnel again, only with one arm and not wanting to crush the poor animal. It was especially hard because she was still so sick. But she managed. It took longer than entering, but when she exited, Sansa almost wished to go back in. The cold was much worse now that her mind was waking up fully to understand just where she was.

Looking down at the little animal, Sansa let out a tired laugh. One that said 'I should have figured.'

A wolf cub.

So small Sansa knew it to be the runt of the litter. The one abandoned for being too small. Too weak. Too useless to survive.

Sansa's heart ached a melancholic way. She felt for the animal. In a way that was just pity, but also personal understanding.

Tugging her clothes back to cover her chest, Sansa held the cub from over the top of her clothes, wanting to keep it as warm as possible. Then, squinting through the snow, now more of a soft flurry, Sansa found her tracks, and followed. She had perhaps only made some ten feet from the den, when the hair on the back of her neck began to stand on end. Freezing, Sansa darted her eyes about, and saw nothing in front or to the sides of her. Behind. Something must be behind her.

Holding the whimpering cub close, Sansa slowly turned in place, and saw a wolf.

The wolf was still. It stood and stared it's yellow-gold eyes at her unblinking. When the cub cried out, small and barely heard, it's ears flicked at the noise.

Sansa had no idea what to do. Should she run and take the cub? Leave it behind for what is more than likely it's mother?

But...

Glaring, scared and more bluffed confidence than any true bravery, Sansa yelled out, “You can't have them!”

The she-wolf still stood there. Nothing about it seemed ready to fight, just observing.

“You left them alone! You gave up all right to them so-” Her voice began to wobble as some hysterical emotion over to her. Her sickness must be making her delirious enough to yell at a wild animal. “She's just a baby! Why would you leave her alone! She could be strong but you never gave her a chance! You decided she wasn't worth the effort! What kind of p-parent do-does that-t.”

And of course she broke down sobbing in front of a wolf. A wolf that was uncaring of the survival of it's weakest child. Animals. They cared only about those that were strong enough. And when it gave the air a small scent, Sansa watched as it huffed, and turned tail. Dismissing Sansa as a non-threat and leaving it's cub behind.

Wide eyed, Sansa could only stare where it just was. Shock? Was she shocked? Was she really shocked that it would leave it's cub behind with a human, even after it had already abandoned it to starve or die of the cold? No. But did something in her, something that was a Stark, expected something more profound? Yes.

But, then again. She was always told she was the most un-Stark like Stark of her siblings.

She wasn't worth the fight for the she-wolf.

Sniffling, Sansa tightened her hold on the cub, and left.

Heading back, Sansa had to pause at the sight of the Medicine Man stood just on the outskirts of the village. He was bundled up more warmly than her in her sleep wear. Normally nervous around the masked man, Sansa was just too exhausted to care, and made her way to him.

Shivering, Sansa peered into the holes of his mask, and said with her teeth chattering, “I found an abandoned wolf cub.” Then she peeled back a bit of her collar to show her head, peeking out and sniffing the air.

There was silence from the man, a weight that had her shifting warily, before he said softly, softer than she had thought his voice would have sounded like, “Best get both of you inside then.” Then turned and started to make his way into the village.

Befuddled, Sansa blinked. Before a burst of cold air had her stumbling after him.

It turned out she had awoken in his hut where she was being cared for for the last two days with a heavy fever. Drumbeat had checked on her the morning after Arrowhead had brought her back to the empty hut. Having found her feverish and trembling, he had carried her to the Medicine Man, who proceeded to watch over her, helping her through her sickness.

Sansa doesn't remember anything from the night she went back to the hut to waking up and wandering off into the small blizzard to get a wolf cub. It was all a hazy blur of aches and coughing.

Now, practically cocooned in blankets and sat in front of the blazing fire, Sansa watched the man cradle the cub delicately, feeding it some goat milk from a water skein. She had some just cooked bread in front of her to munch on, the same kind from when she and the three men were traveling together, and observed.

Inside the hut, the Medicine Man had taken off the mask, the fire light casting his face with strange shadows. He had the typical strong jaw bone and prominent nose like most of the people in the tribe. However, he was much younger than she had thought. And what was the most startling about his appearance, was how one eye was brown. But the other was a white-blue colour.

A part of her wanted to blurt out her questions on how he had such a shade, but instead munched on her bread. She felt so weak from having barely anything to eat, so all her questions could wait until she felt strong enough. However, that did not stop him from asking his.

“How did you find her?” And it was a her, like Sansa had assumed. In her yelling at the she-wolf, Sansa just made a bit too much of a personal connection with the cub's circumstances and her own abandonment issues. Sansa just called it a she, but figured she would learn later.

Swallowing her mouthful, Sansa replied with a small amount of trepidation, “I felt her. In my dream.”

His head cocked to the side, “Felt her?”

Lowering her eyes to look into the fire, Sansa explained slowly, memories of Old Nan and her stories coming to the front of her mind, “I...could be mistaken. But there is a story in my land. About people who can go into the mind of animals. Sometimes into other people, and control their bodies. It's called warging.”

A deep frowned made wrinkles that weren't there before appear heavily, as he wondered seriously, “I see. And you believe that was what happened?”

Something defensive reared up and Sansa scowled, “I felt her. She was so cold. So alone and hungry. I had to get to her. I couldn't just, just leave her there to die.”

He hummed thoughtfully, becoming quiet for a moment. Then, after gathering his thoughts the Medicine Man commented, “An interesting ability. You've heard of skin walkers, correct?”

Fear welled up, remembering how Arrowhead had spoken of killing those creatures, and protested, “I'm not one of them! I promise! I would never harm anyone or-or take control of a person! Maybe I can't even do it again! It was just something that my sickness allowed, or maybe I-”

“Sansa.” And her mouth shut with a click on her stuttering words. The man watched her, bemused, before continuing calmly, not a hint of judgment or condemnation on his face, “I see you have heard of them then. I was just showing precaution. We take such abilities with caution, and there are those with skin walker abilities, that do not allow the darkness to take over. I have met one or two skin walkers, people who could take the shape of an animal that they have killed, and they were kind folk. There is always good and evil in everything. We can not judge something as bad just because we do not understand it, or are afraid of it. I will not discredit you, Sansa, for being able to go into the mind of an animal. I see that you are a child with a good heart. A young woman trying to find her place in the world. You are not evil.”

Relieved, Sansa slumped her shoulders. She hadn't even made any proper thought on what being a warg would entail, and then add onto the superstition of the tribes people, Sansa was terrified they would execute her for being some kind of monster. However, even though the Medicine Man took her new found ability well, that did not mean everyone would. Best to keep it quiet for now.

Falling into a peaceful silence, Sansa finished up eating, and happily took the cub when he handed her over. The cub slept contently in her lap as she then drank the medicinal tea the man handed to her next. It was foul, like most medicine was, but she drank it. She didn't like being sick.

Over the fire, Sansa watched as the man poked the coals and tinder some more, before finally asking the question, “Why do you have one blue eye?

His mouth quirked at her blunt question, “I was born like this.”

“Oh.” Sansa knew assumed that, but she was expecting something else for the explanation. Something that was in the legends that Running Crane had told her. And he must have seen her disappointment, because he explained, “Sometimes, people in the tribes are born with a blue eye instead of just brown eyes. Nothing to do with who their blood comes from, but who the spirits have decided should have the sight into their world. Most, if not all, Medicine Men or Women have a blue eye. It means we have one foot in this world, and the other is in the spirit world. We can communicate with and see those that many do not. A gift by the Great Spirits. And we wear a mask as it's a way to protect ourselves from the evil spirits. Only inside a hut, where it is protected and safe from the spirits, can I take it off.

Sansa let out a sound of awe, and whispered, “I understand.” It was so fantastical to think of beings like gods stepping in and shaping a person in such a way. To be born aware of things Sansa knew little about. She almost went to demand more about what spirits looked like, then another thought occurred, “I don't know your name.” Sansa stated, then added uncertainly, “Am I allowed to know it or can I not know?”

He chuckled, and Sansa was starting to realise he was actually quite a friendly and relaxed person. She had spent so much time scared and avoiding him, that she never even had an actual conversation with him until now. It was so strange to see an actual person behind the mask when all she saw was someone how seemed to judge her from afar.

“You are allowed to know it. Just never asked, Sansa.” The man then pointed out.

Embarrassed, Sansa ducked her head down, cheeks warming and not just from the fire. “I thought it was like, against your culture, to know your name. Or something.” Saying out loud made her feel silly. However, he just smiled, “There is nothing wrong with asking questions. Asking is how we learn. My name is Has The Eagle.”

“It's a nice name.” Sansa could help but compliment shyly. And Has The Eagle smiled wider, “Thank you, Sansa.”

The next few days, as the worse of her sickness having past, Sansa was more awake and present. She still had random coughing fits and bright light made her eyes ache something fierce, but she was loads better than she was before. In that time, Has The Eagle talked to her more about different remedies he made for the tribe, showing the basics that many learnt from their parents when they are young.

It was peaceful, and she did not feel so alone. Sansa hoped Fawn was having a good experience, and learning exactly why having a period was not fun.

No one was allowed to visit, only Has The Eagle was allowed near her as he was the one taking care of her. It was to prevent her sickness from spreading, and she did not mind too much. Away from the still lingering looks some of the tribe members still gave her was nice. In that time, Sansa was able to finish her sweater, someone having stopped by to give her some of her things. It turned out wonderful, all thick and warm, and she wore it the minute she snipped the last thread. Has The Eagle was suitably impressed.

And when she reemerged into the village, still a little blinded by the sunlight, Sansa was greeted with the three men. They are had some level of fretfulness about them, Drumbeat being the first to crowd near her, cupping her face gently. The parental affection had Sansa melting from the comfort.

“I'm sorry that I had to leave you, Sansa. Please know that if I could have stayed, I would've.”

He spoke so earnestly, However, Sansa had no idea what he was referring to. Confused, Sansa frowned up at him, “I don't understand? I know you brought me to Has The Eagle but I'm confused.”

Drumbeat frowned in return, “You-You don't remember?” His slight stumble in speaking was a little startling, as he was a man well versed in speaking

“I was quite sick, Drumbeat.” Sansa pointed out wryly.

Multiple expressions seem to flit across his face in quick succession. Before he settled on something borderline resigned. A sad relief. “I see. Perhaps for the best, you were quite upset at the moment.”

Sansa wanted him to elaborate, go into more detail on what was wrong, however, she decided to let it go. “Alright. Either way, thank you for bringing me here. Has The Eagle did well in keeping my healthy.”

Said man then stepped out of the hut, joining them, and commenting, “Except for when you wandered off in a snow storm and came back with a wolf cub.” In his hands was said wolf cub, who was squirming, trying to get back to Sansa. Grinning sheepishly, and dutifully ignoring the sounds of alarm from the men, Sansa scooped the cub into her arms, giggling when she began to lick excitedly at Sansa's chin. Then, turning to the men, Sansa introduced the cub.

“This is White Claw.”

It took sometime for Sansa to figure out a good name. A part of her still ached over Lady's death, an innocent creature caught in the middle of a power play. A farce of a trial. She named her Lady because she was the more subdue and calmer of the pups. Sansa sometimes wondered if she tried too hard to control an animal that was meant for the wild. Meant to hunt and kill prey. So when she looked at her new cub, who could never replace Lady but heal that part of her that broke, Sansa wanted a name that would reflect well for her future. Names were important. Both in her culture and this one. She looked at her cub, and saw how white her fur was. Not the white like Ghost, a more silver-ish tinge to the coat. Then she saw how her front paws had some nails that were actually white, where normally they were black. Nymeria had something similar, Sansa had recalled.

Then, proceeded to name her White Claw.

Sansa found it to be a good name for her new companion.

Chapter Text

After introducing her new companion to the men, Sansa had went back to sleeping in the hut that she shared with Running Crane and the other two. The dark and coldness of the hut had her happy mood dwindling, so she bustled about, lighting the fire and rummaging around for a basket for her cub to sleep in. Using the fabric of her old shift, Sansa bundled it up and cushioned the basket, before promptly plopping White Fang into it. She whined, not liking to be parted from Sansa, but Sansa wanted her to stay warm and out of the way as she started on making a small meal for herself.

Has The Eagle had prohibited Sansa from working that first day and the next, wanting her body to finish recovering. She still had a lingering cough at times, especially when laid down, and he did not want it to worsen again. Still, Sansa had not wanted to sit around and do nothing, so she got out her knitting needles, and began to work on a sweater for Fawn. She had not found a green coloured yarn, but did find a deep, earthy red toned one, and happily sang under her breath, lulling herself into a daze of knitting. And going by the soft snores of the cub, White Fang was passed out completely.

However, after that first night alone after she had recovered the majority of her health and strength, Walking Crow had visited the next day. When he and his brother had joined Drumbeat in greeting her, he had not said much. Just a soft, “I'm glad you are feeling better.” And that was it. Sansa had felt a small sliver of disappointment. She did not know what she expected, but not even a small pat on the head had occurred.

So she was a bit surprised when he announced his presence, wanting to come into the hut. Sansa had deliberated for a second on whether or not she wanted him in, but decided it would be nice to have some company for breakfast.

“How are you feeling?” Walking Crow asked kindly as he settled down next to her by the fire.

Ducking her head down, Sansa replied quietly, “Better. And you? I heard about your ankle...I'm sorry I didn't come to visit.” Her words caught in her throat where she looked up to meet his eyes, unable to look away as she confessed, “I-I must admit that I didn't even notice you were gone.”

Smiling, he reached over, and laid a soothing hand on her knee, “It's alright, Sansa. I know there are more larger things on your mind than my injury.”

She shook her head, arguing weakly, “Still. I can't believe I hadn't even noticed-”

“Sansa.” It was said firmly, no room to refute. And she watched as his brows furrowed, face set into something that did not look like anger or upset. Not like she had expected, “I'm not upset. Though we have called each other friends, I understand there are people you are more closer to. Just because I saw you at a vulnerable moment, does not mean I'm entitled to your full attention.”

Sansa could take that as an easy out. Take that and just nod and agree. However, Sansa was now finding it hard to bite her tongue and comply these days, and continued to argue, words as jumbled of a disaster as her mind. “Walking Crow...I just-My mind. It's always so...messy. My thoughts, my emotions. I just don't notice things that are not in front of me now. I used to be so good at remembering people, taking moments to think about them, to consider them. I knew my cook's name in Winterfell. I knew the servant who changed my sheets, the guards that surrounded me. I knew of Joffrey's habits, knew how to avoid them as best as I could. I knew which King's Guards were which by the way they walked. I knew them all. And now, I barely recall if I remember seeing Running Crane or Fawn eat something during lunch. I just don't understand why it's becoming so...” No words could be a good descriptor in that moment, and Sansa let out a sound of frustration. Messy was the best she could find, forgetful could be used too, but even that felt weak compared to her state of mind now.

Walking Crow shifted close enough to brush his shoulder against hers, before turning to face her head on. The hand on her knee moved to wipe a thumb against her cheek, and the wetness was suddenly noticed. Of course she was crying again. Hastily ducking her head once more, Sansa wiped away the tears with her sleeves as Walking Crow gently explained to her, “Because your mind is still trying to heal. You are no longer trying to just survive, Sansa. Your mind recognises that the pain, the hurt, is all over now. You are safe. So now, it's main priority, is to help you heal. And if that means you forget things that are not needed in order to heal, than that is okay. No one will judge you for that, Sansa.”

“I just feel so terrible though.” Sansa mumbled guiltily, head in her hands. Her shoulders started to tremble, and he wrapped his arms around them, pulling her into his chest. Words now muffled, Sansa continued miserably, “I should remember things about the people I care about.”

He hummed for a moment, starting to rock her body back and forth as he promised, “And I believe you will, slowly and over time, as you heal.”

So yes, those last two days before the women returned from the moon tipi, was quite an emotional ordeal. After Walking Crow had left, Sansa fell into a small spiral of thoughts and emotions. She still was so caught up on her not remembering details of the people around her, feeling like a terrible friend. But the possibility of her healing was a hopeful one. Even after the time spent with the tribe, she still felt like the miserable girl in King's Landing, but without the threat of violence and death hanging over her neck like a sword. To think that she could be healing was such a fragile thing, that it was hard to believe.

However, no matter the struggle, she had to believe that things would get better. If she didn't...her thoughts brought back the memory of that first morning where she nearly drowned herself. Sansa did not want to think about what Sansa at her most desperate and broken down would do.

Luckily, she had managed to pull herself together for their return, eagerly hugging Fawn as she exclaimed with joy over finally being able to get the markings of the woman. Fawn was also completely in love with White Claw the second she met the cub, falling to her knees to scoop the animal up. She cooed whilst peppering kisses over White Claw's, furry head, and Sansa stood to the side grinning. It seemed her friend emerged from the moon tipi happy and whole. And she had easily fallen in love with Sansa's cub, happily snuggling with White Claw at night sometimes. Though the older women were unimpressed with the new addition to their home, they were accommodating, and Sansa had spotted Quick With Water at one point cooing over the cub when she thought no one was looking. And even Running Crane would smile at the two younger girls playing with White Claw.

Many of the other children of the tribe loved the cub too, giggling as they run about, the little wolf yapping and chasing after them, tiny tail wagging. There were other dogs in the tribe, mainly wolf-dog hybrids, and Sansa had enjoyed some quiet time before she found White Claw just sitting with them, softly petting them. And now, with an added cub to the mix, the wolf-dogs followed after her cub curiously, who followed her eagerly. So Sansa sometimes had a parade of canines following as she completed chores and tasks in the now snow covered ground.

It made her chest ache, remembering Lady and their days together. White Claw does well in filling that cracked and dug opened hole in her heart, but she will never be Lady. And Sansa doesn't want her to be. She wants White Claw to be a new companion, not a replacement, and sometimes it was hard for Sansa to look at the cub and not see Lady when the direwolf was smaller. Some days, Sansa had to hand the cub over to Fawn, the grief too all consuming for Sansa to deal with. But she always came back for White Claw, because Sansa would never want to actually get rid of the cub. She loved her dearly. But just as she would never be Lady, Lady would never have been White Claw, and Sansa tried her best to keep the two separate in her mind.

It was three weeks after Sansa healed up from her sickness, and in that time, the snow was coming down heavier. She of course delighted in the weather, playing around in it with the other children. The younger ones squealed and shrieked, Sansa bursting into laughter during their snowball fights. Fawn loved the sweater when Sansa presented the finished piece, and never took it off when running about outside with the other children.

They may have the first markings of the woman, but that did not mean that the love for playing in the snow would fade. Sansa had even managed to wrangle Walking Crow and Arrowhead in enjoying the snowfall. The older man made an impressive looking snowman, whilst his younger brother drew pictures into the snow. Only for him to grumble whenever the younger ones ran through it, having not seen it in their excitement. Sansa had giggled at his facial expression, remarking that he looked like an angry squirrel this time instead of her.

The snowball fight that ensued was a harsh one, with the first one fired directly at her face. Many lives were sacrificed to the freezing element, along with much dignity.

Outside of playing with the snow and training White Claw, most tasks began to dwindle as the days grew colder and shorter. And soon, it was too cold to go outside and play. To the point that most days, Sansa would only go a few times just for her cub to relieve herself before ducking back inside.

It felt like those cold nights in Winterfell, where her and her younger siblings had curled up in one of the bigger beds and listened as Old Nan spoke of stories and legends. Running Crane did the same. They all sat around the fire, paying keen attention as she told of stories and their morals. How their gods shaped the world. Of humans, and even animals, achieving some accomplishment big enough to be recognised by the gods themselves. And in return, Sansa told the stories she knew.

It felt silly to recite all the songs and ballads of knights and ladies in need of rescue. So instead, she turned to talking about the wars long past. Of the Kings of Winter. Of how the kingdoms were shaped through war, like how the Neck became a swamp by using the hammer of the waters. Sansa enjoyed their rapt attention, even as she struggled at times, trying to find the right descriptor at certain points.

And then, the stories got darker, more solemn, as the nights grew longer and longer. Of the evil spirits that were warped and ready to consume and cause death. Of warnings to never stray too far from the camp or village. And in return, Sansa spoke of grumkins and snarks, crawling into homes during the wintry nights. Killing live stock, stealing and eating children. She spoke of the Old Gods, of the weeping faces carved on trees. And then a story came to mind one evening when it was her turn.

With dark stories, came dark thoughts. And with remembering the death of Robb and her mother, the story of the Rat Cook came to mind. Taking a small sip of water and cuddling a slowly growing White Claw to her chest, Sansa began, eyes staring into the fire.

“There was once a cook for the Night's Watch. You remember what I spoke of them, correct?” And when she received nods, Sansa continued, “One day, the King and his son came to the Wall, and the King was given a pie. It was filled with potatoes, carrots, and delicious meat. It tasted so good, he asked for seconds. What the King had not known, was that the dinner he found so delicious, had the King's son inside it. The Cook was apparently slighted by the King, but it was never known over what could have pushed the Cook to go as far as that.”

“Was he punished?” Fawn whispered, wide eyed. Sansa glanced up once before looking back into the flames.

“Oh, he was. But it wasn't because he killed the King's son, or even because he made the King eat another human, and his own son at that. It was because he violated Guest Rights. In my land, when you invite a guest into your home, you share bread and salt, showing that under the eyes of the gods, that they will not be harmed and are safe in your home. The gods were so angered that the Cook violated such a sacred vow, that they turned him into a rat. A rat that was cursed to only ever eat his young. And even now, it is said that his children still roam the Night's Watch.”

Running Crane stared her down for a long time, before asking, “Do you believe that your family will get their justice?”

And Sansa jerked her head up from where she looked into the fire, not having expected the older woman to have picked up on the weight of her words. On how personal it was. But she met her dark eyes firmly, “The gods are cruel and do not care for humans. That is why they are gods. However, oaths and vows, they will always take seriously, because their names are spoken in those vows. To go against a vow, is like saying that the god is not powerful enough to be used for an oath. A slight on the god. My brother and mother were killed under Guest Rights. And though it may take time, I do believe that the gods will find a way to balance that violation.”

The nights carried on in such a way, sharing more stories. Some from their own lives, some from those passed down through word of mouth. It was one thing that Sansa enjoyed, how similar that was in their cultures. Yes, there were books and scrolls that had stories and histories written down, but she knew that not everyone could afford such things, or even knew how to read. Oral tradition was the way with most stories, and it was exactly the same with the tribe. And Sansa did her best to commit them all to memory, as she did with all the stories told when she was younger.

This chance to really talk and connect with the other women was something Sansa reveled in. She had missed this companionship with other girls. Jeyne and Beth were held close to her chest, hoping that where ever they both were, they were safe. She was told Jeyne was, but Sansa wasn't so naïve anymore to completely believe that. But she had to hope, not wanting to think of all the horrible possibilities.

And in the lack of loneliness, Sansa realised how much she had hated those few days when they were in the moon tipi. She knew it was important to Fawn and dared not bring it up, not wanting to make them feel guilty of a time they all enjoyed. But she had to help herself accept just how much she truly could not stand being alone. The lone wolf dies but the pack survives. She had to remember her father's words, and take them to heart. Take them to heart in a way she never did when she was younger. Looking around the fire, at the expressive facial expressions on Fawn's face as she regaled them with an over-blown and dramatic story that had them all laughing, Sansa knew them to be her new pack. Knew that the people even outside of the hut to be a part of the pack as well. And just like with White Claw, she was not replacing her old family with a new one. She just found another one to love just a strongly, but never to take over the love she still held for her blood family.

Sansa just had to keep that in her mind constantly, so as to not let the guilt consume.

Chapter Text

The wind was a gentle brush through the tall grass and flowers around her, no longer holding the cutting chill from the winter that had just past. Having always enjoyed her hair to blow around with the air, Sansa had not braided it yet this morning, letting the long curls billow this way and that. The head band that Fawn had made her last year was tucked tightly around her forehead, and she had tied a magpie feather to a tiny little braid behind her ear that one of the children had done last night.

Sighing softly, Sansa tilted her head upwards, basking in the warm spring sunshine, a smile cracking. Peace was still a strange thing to feel, but in that moment, Sansa felt it taking root into her bones. The guilt was still present, but Sansa knew there wasn't much she could do to help her family, or what remained of it anyway. Jon was safe at the Wall. Arya...made her chest ache, but her sister was always the cunning and quick one of the two. If anyone could survive out in the wild, it was Arya. Sansa had to believe all this to keep her sanity.

A call of her name tore her from her thoughts and the peace of the moment, Sansa peeked over the wildflowers, being tucked low into the grass, to see Fox looking around for her. The older girl had her hands on her hips, surveying the field with a frown of confusion. For a short moment, Sansa was about ready to stand up and make her way over, but mischief welled up in it's place. She was starting to enjoy that returned feeling. Keeping low, Sansa did a quick crawl-crouch, towards the other girl, whose back was now turning to her.

The wind was on her side, creating a rustle that disguised her own movements, so she was able to get directly behind the older girl without being noticed. Biting her lip, forcing down a laugh but not a smile, Sansa jumped up and tackled the other to the ground with a war-cry, Fox flailing and letting out a sharp yelp in shock.

It soon turned to giggles as they rolled about in the field, tickling one another breathlessly. However, even though Sansa had the element of surprise, Fox was the stronger of the two and managed to roll them over so as to pin Sansa to the ground. Grinning at one another, trying to catch their breath, neither were prepared for the second battle cry as Fawn decided to join into the fray, tackling them into a pile of limbs and hair. 'When did she get here!?' Sansa's thoughts cried incredulously.

Laughing joyously though, Sansa stared up at the clear blue sky, so big and stretching wide above them, she knew peace once more.

Running back to the village, a bundle of wildflowers in their hands, the girls dodged around members of their tribe, parting ways with Fox as Sansa and Fawn hurried back to their home. Ducking into the hut, they were greeted with an exasperated Quick With Water, who chided them, “Really, you two? We have a spring ceremony to prepare for and you come barreling in like you've just gone rolling about in the grass?”

And at their sheepish faces and mildly guilty silence, she sighed, “Let me guess. That's exactly what you two have been doing.”

“Fox was there too! It wasn't just us!” Fawn protested, and Sansa quickly nodded in agreement.

“Of course she was with you two. It's like you three were born from the same womb at once.” And though she seemed irritated, there was still a smile on her face. And it grew more affectionate when they presented their flowers in apology.

Taking them gently, before giving them both a soft swat with the flowers at the girls' legs, Quick With Water commanded, “Now go get washed up. There is grass practically growing out of your hair.”

Giggling once more, they grabbed clothes and soaps, and ran off towards the river.

Moving about the village, helping out when called to, Sansa almost bumped into Arrowhead. With one glance at his unimpressed expression, Sansa recalled exactly what placed such a look on his face. Wincing, Sansa, ducked her head as he offered a too-light greeting, “Little Trout.”

Pulling on an innocent face, Sansa greeted in response, “Good afternoon, Arrowhead.”

“Yes, I suppose it is a good afternoon. The wind was not bad this morning either. Perfect for archery, in fact,” Sansa, wincing, could practically feel the sarcasm thick in his voice as he spoke, “I was just there this morning, and thought to myself, 'It's quite lonely right now. If only a little trout swam past to keep me company'.”

Sighing, Sansa earnestly apologized, “I didn't mean to forget, Arrowhead. I got distracted this morning and really wanted to enjoy all the freshly sprouted flowers.”

“Enjoying nature is good, but learning to shoot an arrow is a good skill to know. A skill that you, in fact, asked me to teach you.” Truly apologetic, Sansa nodded at his reprimand, murmuring another apology.

“Now,” He continued after Sansa showed honest contrition, “I think we have plenty of time before the feast to practice, hm?”

“Yes, Arrowhead.”

Being taught archery was a discussion she had had with Running Crane during the winter. She wanted to know other ways to help the tribe and provide for it. The older woman suggested learning to use a bow, and after some thought, Sansa decided it was a good way to remember Arya by. Everyday, she tried to do something in her time that would honor her family. Braiding her hair back with the same deftness and patience as her mother would. Playing around with Fox and Fawn when they were not busy with chores was how she remembered little Rickon. Storytelling to the younger ones had her thoughts always on Bran, and being diligent in her tasks made her think of Jon and Robb, always she dutiful when something needed to be done.

For her father, she honored the promise she made to herself on raising White Claw well. This time, she would not have her companion needlessly executed.

So learning to shoot an arrow straight was the best way to honor her little sister, Sansa decided resolutely.

But that didn't mean her shoulders and arms did not ache something fierce. And Arrowhead, most likely where he got his name from, was a strict and merciless teacher, uncaring if her arms were near trembling from pain. Just as long as she pushed herself to shoot the amount of shots he determined she should make each practise, then he did not care. Sometimes, when she passed him by after practise, Walking Crow would give her sympathetic glances. Seemed she was not the only one that had been under his brother's harsh tutelage. But she was firm in her resolve to carry on. She did not wish to be a burden on this new family she was in, never wanting to bring anyone down and be useless.

They had a spring harvest ceremony that late afternoon, food prepared and handed out as dancers in their regalia thanked the Great Spirits for the kind winter they had. No one had passed from sickness or starvation, so it was a good season. Sat in between Fox and Fawn, Sansa clapped along to the drum beat and singing, happy to understand the words they called up to the sky.

And when the sun dipped down, sky orange like the bonfire, Sansa tugged the girls up into the space for dancing, laughing and twisting about the circle.

“Come on, Sansa! You're so much more better than me at this!” Fawn pouted.

The red head clucked her tongue, not evening glancing at the older girl's direction as she continued with her neat stitches. “You wouldn't be so bad if you actually practised- Don't even think about shoving your work into my basket!”

Her head had snapped around to the other girl, shooting a glare where Fawn quickly snatched her hand back, the bundle included. “Please!” Fawn continued to wheedle as Walking Crow approached them. They were gathered off to the side of the village, under a willow tree. Sansa had suggested it, a breath of fresh air whilst the girls did their sewing. Fawn disliked it as much as Arya had.

The young man smirked down at Fawn, “I thought you declared yourself the best sewer in the tribe when we were younger?”

“I was foolish then! I know better.”

Sansa kept a keen eye on Fawn's hand as she snarked at the older girl, “I think you know less then you did when you were younger.”

Walking Crow chuckled and Sansa was momentarily taken by the sound of it, how his laughter brightened his usually severe expressions. And in her moment of weakness, Fawn struck.

“NO!”

Lashing out, Sansa grappled for the other girl's wrist, Fawn letting out a squeal as they tumbled to the side, wrestling.

“Gods damnit, Fawn! Do your own work!”

As she managed to get the other into a headlock, Fawn kicked her legs about, flailing and wiggling like a caught fish, “Never! I want to be a lazy bear forever!”

The arm strength she had gained from archery had Sansa in succeeding in wrapping her arms around Fawn's chest, legs coming up to lock around her body. The trapped girl wiggled about feebly before resigning to her capture. Panting, she dramatically wailed, “Forsaken! My sister has forsaken me!”

From the corner of her eyes, Sansa could see Walking Crow's hands covering his face, shaking his head in exasperation. Spitting some of Fawn's hair from her mouth, Sansa grumbled, “You are the worst, Fawn. I'm telling Running Crane.”

“Forsaken!”

With the blooming of spring, Sansa had began to notice a...childishness about herself coming into being. Perhaps it was Fawn's own playful behaviour rubbing off onto her, their close proximity making it hard to avoid. Not to mention, Sansa was not being held to a higher standard as a highborn lady. Here, in this tribe, she was just Sansa. Red Stranger. Little Trout. She was free to run about and play like her younger sibling had done, rolling in the grass and having stupid fights. As long as it didn't cause too much distraction from their tasks and chores, then many just watched them with an amused resignation. And Fox was always eager to join in on the play as well, making them a horrible trio, getting into mischief.

And where they started to run about and get into trouble, Walking Crow seemed to have designated himself as the one to make sure no one got injured or nothing was broken. Sansa amused herself privately at him seeming to be like a mixture of a guard and chaperon. But at least he appeared to be having fun trailing after them, chuckling at their antics.

Like today. About two weeks after the spring ceremony, Sansa was in the process of being taught how to climb a tree by Fox and Fawn. They had appeared aghast at learning she had never been allowed to climb during one of their many conversations about her land. After a hurry of finishing their chores, the two of them dragged Sansa off to the nearby woods, White Claw happily trotting after them. Which was how she found herself high up in a tree. The girls stood on the ground, calling up encouragements as Sansa firmly kept her eyes off the ground, sight fixed on where her hands would grasp, and making sure each foot was stable.

Ignoring each tremble of her knees and the scratching bark under her bare feet, Sansa steeled herself with every inch she went up. It was a different kind of exhausting, compared to running about or archery. It worked her arms, the heaving pull of her body up the branches, as well as centering her balance so as not to fall down.

Once their cheers seemed so distant to her ears, Sansa found a branch near her legs to take a seat, catching her breath. Breath that soon disappeared as she looked up, brushing away branches to stare out above the village. They were only on the outskirts of the forest, so nothing obstructed her view of the smoking huts, the fields where some where working in, as well as the distant herd of sheep and goats. It was a magnificent view, seeing the mountains surrounding her new home and people. She wanted to capture this forever in her mind.

“Sansa!”

At the call of her name, said girl looked down, and the lightness of seeing the world from a different angle swooped into her stomach. The ground was...very far away. Her resting heart leapt into her throat. How was she going to get down? It was a dizzying sight, and the ground appeared to get further away the longer she stared down. Her body was locked.

Sansa's words wavered when she finally found her voice to yell down, “I'm stuck!”

The girls went silent, then shared a glance. At the same time, Sansa noticed the figure of Walking Crow joining them. Too far up, Sansa couldn't hear what was discussed, but when Fox pointed up at her, the older boy turned his gaze to her. Sansa gave a sheepish wave before hastily holding onto a branch again, not wishing to upset her balance. Though she could barely make out their faces, Sansa knew the exact expression of bewilderment and exasperation Walking Crow was making.

“Face the trunk and lower your feet slowly!” Fawn instructed.

“Don't look down, only to where you're stepping!” Fox then added.

It was both helpful but not. Easier said than done. Shaking all over, Sansa glanced at a branch not a foot away from her dangling legs. Holding tight to the branches overhead, she began to slowly lower herself. Her stomach swooped into her chest at the sensation of no footing, before she managed to find it.

Closing her eyes, Sansa took deep breaths. How Bran was able to climb Winterfell, Sansa would never be able to understand.

Following their calls of comfort, encouraging her to keep going and that she was almost there – she wasn't, she knew exactly how high she was up, but it was the thought that counted – Sansa kept lowering herself down. Like climbing up, she needed to make sure her feet were balanced and stable on branches before continuing down. If a branch seemed to bow too much, it was not a good one to stand on.

“I hate you both!” Sansa called down to them. Their laughter was uncalled for, but closer, which had her tense shoulders relaxing. She was nearly there. In her sudden rush to get down quicker than the slow, steady crawl from before, Sansa stepped on a weak branch. She felt the give first before hearing the snap -

A short scream left her as she fell, the world spinning, a branch hitting her side as she tumbled down jarred the breath from her lungs, cutting off the cry. Small impacts from the other branches landed on her arms and legs, pain flaring and dying in short sudden bursts. Though she scrambled to find a hold, soon Sansa was falling in empty air, squeezing her eyes shut to brace for hitting the floor.

Arms then locked around her, forcing air from her lungs at their tight hold over her stomach, her falling halting for a brief second before continuing to the ground. Only, instead of landing on the hard forest earth, she was cushioned by a body. Said body let out a grunt at the drop of her weight onto him.

A tongue then licked at Sansa's face, making her face screw up, shoving away an excited or worried White Claw as she tried to catch her breath.

“Look out!” One of the girls suddenly called, Sansa's eyes snapping open to see a branch fall towards them. Arms around her waist once more, her world span again as they rolled across the floor, dodging the large branch that thumped the ground where she just was. There was a moment of still silence, the sudden rush of the situation settling into everyone's minds.

“You three,” Walking Crow then panted from under her, “Are the worst.”

She couldn't help the wheeze of laughter that escaped her burning lungs, the excitement of that last few seconds making her almost hysterical. Rolling off him to lay by his side, Sansa glanced up and noticed the slight tilt of his lips as he looked down at her. Fond and amused. Now without the fear of falling or being impaled by a piece of tree, Sansa noticed just how close she was to him, recalling how he had caught her. She knew he was a strong young man, he walked around shirtless most of the time, so Sansa knew he had muscles from everyday use in the fields, hunting, or fighting practise. Still, to have them used on her was...

Shaking her head of such thoughts, Sansa sat up, stumbling to her feet where Fawn caught her by the elbow, looking close to tears as she cried, “Sansa! I'm so sorry! I'll never make you climb a tree again.”

Rolling her eyes at her dramatics, though her body was trembling from all the adrenalin, Sansa pulled the older girl into her arms. Fawn hugged her tightly, Sansa breathing out a shaking breath, relaxing into the hold. She was never climbing a tree ever again.

When a groan sounded behind her, Sansa broke free of the hug to step back to Walking Crow, holding out a hand. Her body twinged with pain, the injuries gathered finally coming to light. And he must be aching something fierce from softening her fall. Dark eyes stared up at her for a short second when he noticed her helping hand, before he reached out, hand clasping her arm. His touch was warm. Bracing her feet, Sansa tugged him up, Fox and Fawn surrounding him, looking with worry at his back. They muttered at the scratches and forming bruises, and guilt hit Sansa hard. He got those because of her foolishness.

Twisting around to look at himself, Sansa saw him grimace, before shrugging. “Had worse when wrestling with my brother.” Looking back at her, Walking Crow gave her a once over, before reaching out to tuck a stray hair behind her ear, “Glad you're alright, Sansa.” Her ears felt hot.

Noticing then that he had some twigs in his hair, and she couldn't help stepping closer, starting to pluck them from his hair. It was so long, not braided currently. Some stupid part of her mind wanted to brush it. Once more shoving such thoughts away, Sansa said with heavy gratitude, “Thank you for catching me, Walking Crow. I'm sorry that you got hurt-” She then tired to say, only for him to cut her off with a firm, “I said would always save you, Sansa. I keep my word.”

Sansa's heart fluttered, stomach swooping again. Though this time, it was not from falling out of a tree.

“You'll still need some balm on those scratches, idiot man.” Fawn then remarked, cutting through the private moment. Stepping back, Sansa cleared her throat and nodded at the young man, “I can get you some.” Before fleeing the scene, face burning. Limbs cried out, Sansa knew she was in for a painful day tomorrow, but she would not stop her hasty retreat. She didn't need such feelings ruining the good thing she had here with the tribe.

Romance was not in Sansa's future anymore.

Chapter Text

The sun beat hot onto her head as she took aim. Behind her, Sansa felt Arrowhead's gaze, watching and assessing her posture. After months of practise, she managed to not tremble at having to keep the string drawn back, waiting. In such heat, though not as terrible as King's Landing, Sansa was in the blue dyed cotton dress she had made during the winter time. It was woven thin, perfect for the heat. The only problem she had when making it, with Fawn and Quick With Water's suggestion, was that it held no collar nor sleeves. Wrapped around her bust snugly, her shoulders were bare.

Though hesitant at first, when she wore it for the first time today, as soon as the summer heat hit, Sansa was grateful she did. Falling to her knees, it left plenty of room to run about with her friends and kept her cool. With colourful beading and some floral embroidery, Sansa felt pretty wearing it.

“Release.”

After how heavily Arrowhead drilled that order into her brain, Sansa was immediate in doing so. Keeping her posture still even though her arm ached to drop. Peering past her bow, Sansa smiled proudly as Arrowhead walked up next to her. He gave a nod of approval. “You're doing well, little trout. Soon you can start practising on horseback.”

A year ago, Sansa would have blanched at such a thought. Now, Sansa was near giddy with his suggestion.

As she went to collect her arrows from the target, Sansa heard faint discussion behind her. Peering back, Walking Crow and Drumbeat had approached Arrowhead, softly talking to one another. Curious, Sansa hurried over, stuffing the arrows into the quiver strapped to her hip.

The men looked up at her approach, seeing her interest. “Heavy Runner has returned from his journey.” Drumbeat said. At her head tilt of confusion, Walking Crow explained, “Like with girls and the moon tipi, boys go on a year long journey once they reach sixteen. A solitary year of self-refection and learning to rely on your skills you've required over the years.”

Slowly, Sansa nodded in realisation, “And you have not gone on yours yet?” They did not strictly celebrate name days, only certain stages of ones life, determined by their growth and maturity. Which meant she did not know when her friend turned sixteen. It must have either been during the winter.

Walking Crow shook his head. “No. After the harvest ceremony this year, I will be.”

Something heavy dropped in her stomach at the thought of him leaving. Trying not to show the discomfort, Sansa hummed in acknowledgment, fetching her arrows. With a murmured thank you to Arrowhead for his usual lesson, Sansa hurried off with her things, head ducked down.

Running Crane had explained different traditions within their tribe months ago, so Sansa had forgotten the coming of age rite for males, mind only focused on what affected her directly. She had thought maybe Walking Crow had already done his, already appearing more like a man to her than a boy since they first met. Apparently that was not to be.

She didn't want him to leave. They had managed to grow closer as friends slowly over time, and he was someone she relied on to make sure she was alright. He was a safety net. Sansa could look to him in a crowd and know she was secure. Though knowing that she could cope without him, seeing as she would never try to even stop him from going on this journey – she had no right to – Sansa couldn't help but think of what the year without him would be like.

Walking Crow followed her and the girls about, kept them out of trouble as well as joining in on the fun from time to time. Other times, he joined in on chores she was doing, making rope next to her as she wove fishing nets, a task she had become quite adept at. They would talk as well, thoughts and ideas that came in mind, personal interests and opinions, and he was getting a decent grasp on westerosi under her patient tutelage. It was starting to become their own language, combining both languages together for fun. Other times, Sansa would hand over her journal, demanding he draw something for her. He was quite the artist. And she would miss his teasing, even if in the moment Sansa was annoyed. Walking Crow never looked down on her, and she had come to rely on his steady reassurance of her place in the tribe, the way no one else could. Even with the other girls and women, even with Arrowhead and Drumbeat, Walking Crow was special in her heart. Next to him, Sansa felt stability.

What will it be like, without him?

After stuffing her things back into the hut, Sansa hurried off to the barn. She was to help with shearing the sheep, gathering the wool to be cleaned, combed, and spun into yarn. It was a fun chore, in her opinion, loving to pet the sheep after their coats were cut. Sansa was not allowed to handle the shears yet, still in the process learning the techniques and the other tribesmen were firm but kind in their instructions. In the barn, she would observe, collect the wool, and continue on from where she had left off yesterday on the carding and cleaning. Excited at the idea of petting the sheep, brightening her lowering mood, Sansa picked up her pace.

Only, as she was crossing the village to get there, Sansa was stopped by the call of her name, looking to the left to see Fox approaching her. There was also an unfamiliar young man beside her friend. Even still relatively new to the tribe, Sansa knew all the faces, her memory of people always being good. Observing him quickly, Sansa noted that her friend was calm in his presence, and nothing in his stance appeared threatening.

With a polite smile, Sansa nodded in greeting, “Fox. Finished gathering the herbs Has The Eagle, requested?”

At the girl's dismissive wave, Sansa's smile turned to genuine amusement. “I'll get them in a bit. I wanted to introduce you to Heavy Runner!”

Recalling the name, Sansa looked over at him, “I heard you've returned. Welcome back.”

Dark eyes steadily watched her. He was silent for a moment before reply, “Thank you. You're the girl they found last year then?” Before she could reply, Fox added to Sansa, “I had mentioned you to him when looking for you. You weren't at the archery range.”

Fox gave her an accusatory scowl, making Sansa huff a laugh, “I don't spend all my time there, I do have things to be doing. Like you should be, you menace.” And prodding the other girl in the stomach with a finger, Fox squealed, twisting away.

Fondly, Sansa rolled her eyes before answering Heavy Runner's question, “Yes. Drumbeat had found me around late summer time last year. I had washed ashore after my ship was caught in a storm. He and the other two were kind enough to bring me back to your tribe.”

“You've learnt the language well.”

With a casual shrug at his appraising comment, Sansa said, “You learn quick when you want to understand and be understood.”

Already knowing she was late to help with her chores, she quickly continued, “But I've got to go help with the sheep. I'm sure we will talk later. Bye Fox!” Sansa waved at the pair before running off to the barn.

The young man seemed like many of the men she had met. Quiet and observant. Nothing really stood out about him to her, so she hadn't thought much of him until two days later after the welcoming ceremony for his return, where he was proclaimed by the elders and Chief that he was a man in the eyes of the tribe. Sansa danced aplenty with her friends that evening.

Heavy Runner was without Fox the second time they interacted, strolling through the village. Sansa had been in the process of returning back to her hut, having finished washing clothes and they needed to be hung up on the line. Giving him a passing nod in greeting, he spoke as she continued on, “Red Stranger.”

At this point, Sansa had grown used to the name, not really taken as an insult anymore, just a common fact. She was strange to this village and her hair was red, a vivid contrast to all the black hair. So she paused in her her tracks, looking at him questioningly.

“I'm curious about your land and people, and had questions.”

Pausing to ponder over his comment, Sansa tilted her head and replied, “I wouldn't mind, however I have to hang up the laundry first.” She hefted the basket in her arms as evidence, it was getting heavier the longer she was waylaid by the young man.

Stepping closer, and Sansa froze with her heart leaping into her throat, Heavy Runner reached out to take the basket from her. “It is too heavy for you. Tell me of your people as we walk.”

Though he was right the weight of the wet clothes, Sansa was a little offended at him saying it was too much for her to carry. However, years of practise had her biting her tongue, not wishing to cause a scene by dragging her laundry out of his arms. Instead, she pushed down the insult and began walking to her hut at a brisk pace.

“What exactly did you want to know?” Sansa asked, perhaps a tad bit too curtly. He did not appear to notice.

Answering the questions he had promptly as they walked, they reached the hut soon enough, Sansa heading for the washing line and silently directing him to drop the basket on the ground. However, she was adamant at him not touching her clothes. Some were her underthings and she did not want the stranger to touch them.

Heavy Runner instead stood and continued to loosen one question after another at her like an arrow to a target, and it was not as endearing at the way the girls would do so. Nor was it polite as the men. He had no awareness of her growth and struggles when having first arrived with the tribe, and though that lack of delicacy should be relieving, it was not considerate, nor was he picking up on how much she really didn't want to be discussing the current political climate of her land.

He had an unimpressed expression when pointing out, “War for power is unnecessary and full of greed. Your people's ranking is also impractical and allows abuse to those deemed lower.”

Huffing in annoyance, Sansa replied shortly, “Yes, but please understand that our cultures and way of life is different. I do know the abuse that can come from people in power.”

“But you said you come from a family of blood power, so what riches that come from your station should dissuade abuse from you.”

The blanket in her hand was thrown to the ground as she span around the glare at him, hands on her hips. “You have no right in saying that I have not suffered, especially when I don't even know you. You've known me all of two days, and this is our only conversation. Now, I'm asking you politely, to leave me alone now. I have other tasks to get on with and you are stopping them from being completed.”

Heavy Runner's eyes widened through her scolding, before a tiny smile crept up his lips. “You are amusing when upset. Fox was right, you are like an angry squirrel ”

Her anger boiled. He was not a friend, he had no right in calling her that. Stepping closer Sansa's hissed, “You are no friend of mine, so do not talk to me so familiarly.”

Brow quirking and gaze still amused as he looked down at her, Heavy Runner opened his mouth to say something in return, but another voice called, “Sansa.”

Snapping her head to the right, the tension and wariness disappeared at the sight of Walking Crow making his way towards them. Stepping away from the other young man, Sansa's side was soon warmed by her friend's presence.

There was a flicker of concern in his dark eyes, before turning towards the other male. “Heavy Runner.” His tone had a warning attached, and the other lost his joviality.

“Walking Crow.”

Looking between them thoughtfully, especially the other male's defensive posture, Heavy Runner then held Walking Crow's gaze. A stand-off. One Sansa had no desire getting in between. Turning away with a roll of her eyes irritably, though still grateful for Walking Crow's interception, Sansa plucked the blanket from the ground. Quick to finish her task, she chanced a glance over her shoulder as she laid the last of the laundry over the drying line, watching with trepidation.

Finally, Heavy Runner took a step back. A retreat, a true, or out of defeat, she did not know only relieved they were done. To Sansa he gave a short nod, “Apologies for offending.” And with a backwards glance at them, the young man left.

Exhaling heavily, Sansa turned a grateful smile Walking Crow's way. “Thank you.”

Walking Crow stepped closer once again, brow furrowed in concern. “What was he saying to you?”

Sansa huffed, crossing her arms. “Just was asking my questions about my home. He doesn't know me, so he couldn't have known some of the responses were upsetting. But I lost my temper when I shouldn't have.”

Her friend glared at where the other male had gone, muttering, “Heavy Runner is not an ignorant man, he should've been aware.”

“Let's just leave it alone, Walking Crow.” Sansa softly stressed. The male frowned but nodded. Sansa ducked into the hut to drop off the empty basket, coming back out to see the he was still there. The frown was on his face still, confused and thoughtful as he voiced, “You walked away abruptly a few days ago. Did I do something to upset you too?”

Sansa flushed, recalling her departure, and quickly shook her head. “No, I just...I just didn't realise you were leaving so soon. On your journey.”

Realisation dawned on his expression, and he smirked slyly, stepping closer. “Are you going to miss me?”

“Yes.” Sansa honestly replied, which stunned him a little. “Of course I will. You mean a lot to me, and I don't want you to go. But I know it's important to you, so I won't do anything stupid like beg you to stay. I will be sad to see you go, but I know I will see you again.”

He softened, a hand coming up to cup her cheek. “I will miss you too. I will come home at the soonest that I can. This journey will prove to the tribe I am a man, able to provide and defend my home, I will return to you.”

Her face must be bright red as she ducked her head down, suddenly unable to maintain his serious gaze. Instead she wormed her way into his chest, hugging him tightly. “You leave so soon.” Sansa warbled into the fabric of his clothes, and he hummed in agreement, the sound deep to her ears.

“The harvest ceremony is in a few weeks time. I will leave the day after.”

Sansa had best prepare something for him by then.

In between her chores and time with her friends, Sansa was weaving with Forest Water. She had gone to the woman that same day of the confrontation and asked her borrow her vertical loom. It was larger than Quick With Water's and also not being used as with Running Crane's. The quiet woman was kind enough to agree, and she spent her time in Drumbeat's and Forest Water's tipi making a blanket.

Along with the naturally cream-white wool of the tribe's sheep, Sansa had dug through her basket of spun yarn to pluck out some dyed blues and reds. She had flushed a little at the colour combination, thinking of her own colouring as well as how it is Tully colours, like she was staking Walking Crow to be under one of her houses' protection. Such things did not matter in the tribe, but it stayed there in her mind and her heart as she wove diamond and striped patterns under Forest Water's gently tutelage.

Drumbeat watched them in the early evenings sometimes, when he had no tasks to complete, and had a secret smile on his face, like he knew something Sansa didn't. She had sent him a few scowls in return, which made the man chuckle but not explain anything.

When the morning came, there was no ceremonial departure. That would come after, if Walking Crow returned successful from his journey. Instead, it was Sansa and those close to him that stood there, offering their goodbyes.

Fox and Fawn gave their sincere goodbyes after offering Walking Crow hugs, Arrowhead murmuring last minute advice and wisdom in his younger brother's ear when they embraced. Drumbeat pressed a stone carved blade into Walking Crow's hands, a gift as well as a promise for it's return.

When it came to Sansa, she placed down the basket that was over her shoulders and tugged out a blanket. Stepping closer, and noting how the others stepped away to give them space – to which she flushed a little, shy – Sansa presented it to him.

He took it was hesitant hands, eyes darting from it to her face with disbelief.

“You gave me your blankets when we first met, you as a boy. I want you to have one as a man. You are proving your strength to the tribe. I want you to stay warm in the cold nights, so that you can do so.”

Clutching the blanket in one hand, Walking Crow tugged her into a tight hug, Sansa sinking into his familiar warmth and scent. Shoving her face into the crook of his neck, her arms around his shoulders, Sansa warbled, “Come home, please. I- I couldn't bare it if-” She cut herself off before she would embarrass herself any further by bursting into tears.

Pulling back some, Walking Crow pressed his forehead to hers, and they shared breath as he softly assured, “I would not leave you so easily, Sansa. You will have many years to come, with me around to bother you.”

With a wet laugh, Sansa shoved him playfully. “Bring me back something.” It was a childish demanded of him, mainly to tease. He chuckled as he put the blanket into his saddle bag, before hopping up onto his horse, giving a nod, “Anything for you, little trout.”

Fists clenched into her dress, Sansa forced a smile through her sadness as he nodded to all of them, wheeling his mount around and taking off with a brisk trot. Once past the village, he burst into a full gallop, becoming a distant speck within seconds.

Tears now flowing freely down her cheeks, her friends wrapped their arms around her. “He'll be alright.” Fawn assured her. “A better hunter and tracker than Heavy Runner, and he managed to survive a year alone.”

Fox made some noise of protest, dutifully defending the young man. Smiling at their playfulness, easing the melancholy, Sansa then turned to the two men, who were solemn in their expression. “Will he be well?” She asked them, desperate for reassurance.

Both nodded, Arrowhead stating, “He is strong in spirit and body. It is only the mind I am concerned for. The solitude is not for every man, and Walking Crow enjoys company, even with being a quiet person.” And there was worry written plain as day across his face. But there was also confidence in his brother, and Sansa had to accept that as enough.

Sansa wanted to worry. She wanted to find the nearest horse and take after her friend, go on the journey with him. She couldn't do much to help him, but at least he wouldn't be alone. However, she knew he would not want that, and Sansa did not want to ruin this for Walking Crow. Instead, she pulled on a brave face and gave a stern nod. “He will be well, and he will return.”

Whirling around, Sansa marched away from them. She hastily wiped away her tears and decided that the best she could do for Walking Crow was keep doing her chores. Every hand kept the village and tribe running smoothly. White Claw came loping over, tongue hanging out and tail wagging, freshly finished with playing with the other dogs and children.

Smiling, Sansa stroked her head as they walked. “I will miss him.” She confessed to her companion. A wet nose bumped into her hand, as if White Claw was reassuring her as well as agreeing. Rolling her shoulders back, Sansa headed to her daily task of checking the fish nets. Nothing else to do but to keep moving forward. He was not going off to war, after all. Walking Crow would return, healthy and hale.

Chapter Text

It took Sansa time to adjust to the lack of Walking Crow, and she was still doing so. When with Fawn and Fox, she would find herself missing their shadow and his witty comments. If she was strolling through the village, Sansa would instinctively glance around for her friend, and become disappointed when she could not see him, before recalling that he wasn't even in the village.

At night she would wrap his blankets extra tight around her body, even with the warm temperature of the late summer season. The sight of Arrowhead's lips quirking in amusement was just like Walking Crow, and Sansa would have to look away.

And it was like everyone around her knew she was missing Walking Crow, tip toeing around the topic. It was infuriating!

She dealt with the loss of her family in the claws of enemies, she could deal with a year without Walking Crow. But her mind and heart said otherwise. Sansa found herself falling back into the hold habit of standing in the direction of Westeros in the morning not three days after his departure.

It was there, where Heavy Runner found her, nineteen days after Walking Crow left, and Sansa wouldn't admit to anyone she was keeping track of the days of his absence. With the blankets pulled tight over her shoulders, she closed her eyes and soaked in the morning sun rising, the scent of dew on the the grass, and imagined that her friend was next to her.

Instead, there was foot steps approaching. For one split second, Sansa thought it was Walking Crow returning, but already was dismissing that foolish hope before even turning to see who it was. The disappointment became stronger at the sight of the young man, unable to stop the curl of distaste on her mouth.

And it seemed he finally noticed her dislike in him, because Heavy Runner sent her a wry smile. “I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

Sniffing a tad bit imperiously, Sansa looked back towards the west as he stepped up next to her. “If you say so.” Was her reticent response. The male snorted.

“I want to apologise.” He began, “Fox had reprimanded me, though I don't know how she even knew, seeing as she wasn't even there for it.” That last part was muttered to himself in confusion, which made an unwanted smile twitch on her lips.

“You underestimate how much the three of us share with one another.”

Heavy Runner gave a solemn nod, “I shall remember the strong bonds between girls.”

“Young women.” Sansa couldn't help but correct. “All three of us have the mark.” And here, she tapped at her chin. He eyed it thoughtfully.

“The tribe is the same, but your presence makes it feel as if so much as changed.” Heavy Runner softly commented, and she faltered. Panic welled in her chest at the thought of making someone who actually belonged in the tribe feel out of place.

“I'm sorry-”

He held up a hand, cutting off her apology, giving her a smile. “It's not a bad thing. Makes things a little interesting around here. And I may exaggerate. Everything is truly the same, but you've made a space for yourself here. I'm mainly surprised just how welcoming the tribe has been, we don't generally take to outsiders well.”

Looking down at her bare feet, toes flexing in the grass and chilled some what, Sansa admitted, “I as well. I suppose it's because when they found me, I was a very miserable looking thing. Not much of a threat.” And she gave him a self-deprecating smile, which felt more like a grimace on her face.

“No.” He disagreed. And then, Sansa froze when Heavy Runner reached out to tug on a curly strand of her hair, not having braided it yet this morning. Generally, she preferred to before leaving the hut, and Sansa couldn't recall the last time she had it down outside besides taking it down for a bath. It made her feel strangely exposed, naked, and nearly miss his next words, too caught up in the implications of someone from this culture – where hair touching was reserved with only those you were very close to – touching it.

“I don't believe you could look miserable, even if you were covered in mud and twigs.”

It took her a few stilted seconds for her brain to register his words, and realise that he was complimenting her.

A flush heated her cheeks, and she finally uprooted herself, taking a step back. “I-I have chores I need to get to.” Was her hasty excuse, fleeing as quick as she could without outright running away. She couldn't remember the last time she was complimented by a boy, and here she was: Flustered. And by not even that flattering of a compliment.

When she scrambled back into the hut, it was to the three other women awake. Fawn, eyes bleary from sleep, shot her a bewildered look. “Do you have a bear on your tail?”

Face still burning, Sansa made no eye contact as she began to dress. “It's nothing.”

That got her friend straightening up, scenting weakness. A mischievous smile crept on her lips, “That doesn't sound like nothing.”

Running Crane and Quick With Water sighed in unison at their youngest family member and her nosiness. However, unfortunately they would not come to Sansa's aid unless a shouting match occurred. A rare happenstance, but has been a thing in the past, especially during the winter. Sansa felt their decision to not get in between any argument or teasing was because they wanted both girls to learn how to stand their ground without resorting to cruelty or violence. It was a wise way of child rearing, but Sansa would beg for their help if it meant that Fawn didn't learn Sansa was frazzled by a single compliment.

She did the smart thing and sprinted from the hut as soon as she was dressed, deciding she could braid her hair with the sheep.

“Sansa!” Fawn shouted after her. It incited Sansa to run even faster.

It was a desperate maneuver, and one that was not a long term solution, but Sansa needed to get her head back on straight before she could even talk about it.

Stupid Heavy Runner. Things started to go wrong the second he returned to the tribe.

Then Sansa felt ashamed for such a thought, and chided herself as she went about sitting with the sheep grazing in the field, doing her hair. When the last braid was tied off and tossed over her shoulder, Sansa sighed heavily, deep thoughts taking over.

To think that she would be so caught of guard by a single compliment was bizarre, and she has had people touch her hair in Westeros before, so it should not be so jarring. In the past, she might have loved the flattery, but now all it made her think about was how she couldn't entertain even the slight possibility of marriage and a family. Even with making a space for herself here, as Heavy Runner observed, she was not a true member and would never doom anyone from the tribe to be cast out for marrying her. She couldn't bear the thought of having children that didn't belong anywhere, no community to tie themselves to.

And wasn't that a crushing thing to have to accept. Sansa had loved the thought of having her own family and children, even if perhaps she was far more naive as a child and didn't fully understand the implications at the time. But a little older, a little wiser now at thirteen, and even with having dealt with tragedy, Sansa still wanted that. Wanted so desperately. She had barely any family left, and knew she couldn't go back to Westeros to search for her sister or seek out Jon. She wouldn't know the first place to look for Arya, and Jon was bound to the Night's Watch, he couldn't help her with the desire to have her family back again.

And now, she couldn't even build one with her own flesh and blood. That was not to say that the women and men that have become important to her life in the tribe were not her family in their own way. She had an aunt she always wanted with Quick With Water. She had a grandmother she never had with Running Crane, a closeness with Fox and Fawn, like sisters in the way Jeyne was and the way she never got to be with Arya. Older brother in Arrowhead, and...a father figure in Drumbeat.

That had a thickness clogging her throat. Sansa already felt so guilty in finding these people as family, like she was replacing the ones she lost. Like her blood family were to be forgotten. Wrapping her arms around her legs, Sansa pressed her face into them, hiding her tears.

Oh, how she wished Walking Crow was here! He would have some pearls of wisdom to readily hand to her, along with a warm hug and a kind smile.

It took her until she felt the sun rising high in the sky before she composed herself enough to get up and do her chores. Sansa worked extra hard that day to make up for her lack of help with things, though she got a few exasperated or fond eye rolls when she bustled about, scooping things up before someone else could, trying to apologise with her actions.

One of the main handlers of the animals in the tribe, an elderly man named Falling Red Leaf, had been the one to find her with the sheep, eye brow arching as he dryly wondered, “I did not know I had a red sheep. Is this a sign from the Great Spirits?”

Sniffling, Sansa had dried her tears and chirped in her best happy voice, “It can't be a particularly good sign, elder!”

He then huffed at her response and nudged his walking stick towards the barn, “I've left the chicken eggs for you to collect.”

Sansa had winced as she got up. The roosters were not a friendly bunch, nor were the brooding hens. This was not necessarily a punishment for her not completing her usual morning tasks, but it was a silent reprimand, and Sansa took it was grimacing grace.

That night she managed to dodge any of Fawn's probing by hunkering down in her cot and tugging the blankets over her head. But relief could not be found, because Sansa had a nightmare that night.

The sea crashed against the shore. Her feet moved towards it.

Panic was building in her chest as she walked closer. Because she wasn't stopping. Because she couldn't stop.

Where was he? She could only think as the water lapped at her shins. He should be calling for her right now.

She tried to look behind her, but her head was resolutely facing forward.

Her mother was there, under the water. Her face was obscured by the murky depth, but she knew it was her mother.

She was calling her name.

Where was he? The water was at her chest. He should be here now. That was how it happened last time.

A panic in her chest died as a false calmness settled over.

She sunk into the depths.

A hand was tugging at her wrist, and when she looked at her mother, she was faceless.

Her throat was slashed and bleeding into the water.

She couldn't breathe.

Where was he!?

Sansa choked in a desperate gasp of air as she flew up from her bed, hand gripping her throat. It was silent in the hut, only her stuttering pants filling the darkness. When she realised she was awake, that it was all a dream, a sob wanted to tumble from her lips.

Muffling it by pressing them tightly together, she felt White Claw nudge against her side, her wolf whining as she settled her furry head onto Sansa's lap. Running a shaking hand through her fur, Sansa realised she really didn't want to be alone right now, but she didn't want to wake anyone up. It was so silly, how a dream could make her feel so small and lonely.

She wanted someone to hold her, as her body curled over White Claw, face pressing into her thick pelt. Sansa's mind flashed to Drumbeat, and her want overtook any rationality. Quietly, Sansa tugged her blanket around her shoulders and left the hut, her wolf at her side.

Though they were safe in their valley in the mountains, the tribe had guards at night. A few who kept watch for anyone approaching along with wild animals coming too close. Sansa knew that Drumbeat took a rotation every four days, and he was on guard tonight.

It wasn't hard to find him, by a fire on the outskirts of the village, two other men by him and talking in low tones.

At the sound of her approach they quieted, turning towards her. Sansa halted, suddenly realising how silly she was being. “Little trout?” Drumbeat called out, worry heavy in his tone. Flushing, mortified that there were witnesses to her moment of weakness, Sansa tried to do a sharp turn around and march right back to the hut. She could deal with not getting a hug. However, Drumbeat caught up with her, stepping in front to pause her in her tracks, a concerned hand on her shoulder.

“Is something the matter?”

Tears welled in her eyes, and Sansa gave in. Darting forward she flung her arms around his waist with such a ferocity he staggered back, letting out a soft 'oof'. He still held her in return, and that was enough for Sansa to relax and sink into the comfort.

“What's wrong, little trout?” He murmured to her once more.

“I miss him.” Sansa whimpered into the cloth of his tunic.

“Oh, Sansa.” He sighed, understanding. The man began to lead her over to the fire, though Sansa was reluctant to release him, holding onto the man side on awkwardly. However, Drumbeat did not push her off, instead kept an arm around her shoulders.

The other two guards got up and left them alone, off to patrol other parts of the village and giving them some privacy. Oh how she adored these people. They knew to respect private conversations so well.

Seated before the fire, Sansa continued to lean into him, White Claw taking up a place on her other side as the man rubbed her arm in comfort. “He's fine.”

At his reassurance, Sansa shook her head. “I know that! I just miss him. Everything feels wrong without him.”

The man hummed in agreement. “Arrowhead is adjusting to the lack of another in their home. I think he is lonely too.”

“I'm not lonely.” Sansa immediately denied. Drumbeat stared at her, one brow arched. She wilted at his unconvinced expression, curling back into his side. “I'm a little lonely without him.”

“I think Arrowhead may appreciate your company,” He suggested, “You two can bemoan the lack of your favourite person.”

A flush bloomed on her cheeks, and her fingers plucked at the grass below them. At his chuckle from seeing her lack of protest, Drumbeat softly said, “Growing up is difficult. It's learning to let go of things you wish you didn't have to.”

“I hate letting go.” Was her mumble, painted with bitterness. “I've let go of enough.”

Drumbeat sighed. Sansa then felt a weight on her head, and it took her a second to realise the man was resting his own head on top of hers. It reminded her of when mother would offer her comfort for one reason or another. Her eyes began to burn again. “I feel bad.”

“How so?” He replied quietly.

“I'm replacing my family.”

“No, you're not.” Drumbeat softly refuted, and then hushed her when she went to argue, continuing on, “You are making space for more people in your heart and life. You have lost, and you have gained. You do not have a limit of how many people you can love in your life, that is not how people work. The love for your family is there, and so too is the love you hold for yout family here.”

Her bottom lip warbled as she confessed before she could back out. “I think of you as a better father than my blood one.” It was spoken with heavy guilt, as were most of her deepest feelings and thoughts now. When would that sour taste of guilt leave her, release her from it's clutches.

Drumbeat sucked in a sharp breath at her declaration, and his hold on her tightened, pulling her truly flush against his side. Sansa couldn't see his face, but she felt the way he minutely trembled. “I am...” The man, for the first time that she could recall, was at loss of words. “I am truly...honored, that you-”

As he cut himself off, Sansa pulled back to look at him. Dark eyes wide and filled with an indescribable amount of emotion, the young woman gave him a tremulous smile in return. “My father did not understand me, closer to my sister and half-brother. Viewed me younger than I actually was, sometimes. And it's been hard, trying to accept that though I love my father, and the grief for his death weighs heavily on me, I also know that he was not the best father to me. He was not cruel, but he was too distant for us to have any close bond.” Looking away to the fire, beginning to burn low, Sansa tossed a few pieces of wood onto it as she finished, “You are my father in the ways that matter.”

Truly choked up now, Drumbeat stared at the flames, fists clenched over his knees. Sansa let the silence fall on them, knowing he was needing some time to gather himself. Reaching out, Sansa stroked White Claw, the wolf's tail thumping at the attention.

“My wife and I do not have children.” Drumbeat spoke up after a time. Sansa turned to him, not pointing out that she already knew that. Instead, she waited, knowing there was more to his statement. There was an old sadness in his dark eyes. “It took us a few years of to learn that one of us was unable to have children, though we do not know who. However, we loved one another too much to even think about ending the marriage. It took time, but we adjusted to the knowledge that we would not have any children of our blood.”

Meeting her gaze, Drumbeat smiled softly. “Forest Water will be over joyed to know that we finally have a child to call our own.”

Sansa's breath hitched, stretching her hand out to grasp his, where upon he tugged her back into a hug. “I am here for you, Sansa. For whatever you might need, I am here.”

Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, Sansa sniffled, tears finally falling down her cheeks. Her parents may be cursing her from the afterlife, but it was she who was alive right now, and she would not take back her affection for this man she decided would be her father. They may punish her when she reaches the halls of the afterlife, but for now, she was alive and loved dearly.

Taking up Drumbeat's suggestion, Sansa visited Arrowhead's hut during evening meal a few days later. The man called for her to enter when she announced her presence, and stepped inside the brothers' hut for the first time. More often than not, it was Walking Crow who visited Sansa in the hut she shared with the women, or they would just meet somewhere around the village.

Inside was just as similar as it was in the one she lived in, as well as Drumbeat's, though items and decorations differed. Two cots sat on either side of the hut, an obvious show of giving one another their own space in the one they had to share. However, the cot on the right was distinctly empty, no blankets baring a thin one laid upon it. There were also less compared to the left side, where Arrowhead sat, carving into a piece of wood.

In her own arms, Sansa had some more knitting, wanting to make some gloves for Drumbeat when he was on patrol, the nights slowly beginning to get colder. Arrowhead gave her a small nod in greeting, “How can I help you, little trout?”

Stepping further in, Sansa sat near him, closer to the fire, as she replied frankly, “I wanted to see if I can join you in your missing of Walking Crow.”

He faltered, the man turning back to his carving, his hand having paused in the motions. “I don't like the silence.” Arrowhead admitted with a casual shrug that appeared forced, before resuming his carving. It was small in his hand that Sansa couldn't make out what exactly it was that he was making. Instead of prying, Sansa turned to her knitting, agreeing, “It does feel strange without him.”

There was a pause of quiet, them working on their projects, before Arrowhead commented, “Compared to you girls, he's quieter. And he's gotten more controlled over what he says as he's gotten older, but when Walking Crow was younger, he wouldn't stop talking and asking questions.”

A grin made it's way on her cheeks, a feeling so odd after the last few weeks being in a slump. “Did he trail behind you everywhere?”

“Yes!” Arrowhead exclaimed, a huff of exasperated laughter. There was a fond smile on his face, one not so clouded by sadness. “He tried to join a hunting party when he was seven, could barely carry the bow and quiver.”

Giggling, able to picture a young Walking Crow, running about and causing havoc, Sansa divulged, “My sister Arya followed my brother and half brother around the training yard. If not them, then many other guards around Winterfell. She would sneak out to the shooting range as well, it infuriated our mother at times.”

The man snorted. “Walking Crow once tried fishing at five, and when he caught something, he wasn't strong enough to reel it in and was pulled into the water.”

Laughing with the man, Sansa felt a heavy weight on her heart begin to lift. The pair spent the rest of the evening trading stories of moments with their siblings in the past, to the point where Sansa ended up staying the night, snuggled deep into Walking Crow's empty cot. It smelt like him, pine and smoke. Before she fell asleep however, Arrowhead, from where he was laid down, softly spoke in the slumbering silence, “There was a sickness that swept the tribe the year Walking Crow was born. It took our mother and father, along with a lot of our people.”

Turning over onto her side, Sansa watched his form in the low light from the embers. She had been told about this event the past winter, where people of the other three tribes had actually sent their own people to join the Red Buffalo tribe in order to help repopulate it. It wasn't that uncommon for such exchanges, helping to keep the breeding pool open and as less inbred as possible. But it was rare for the amount that joined due to the loss of numbers within this tribe.

A show of solidarity in dire times. Sansa admired the tribes of the Blue Mountains for their sense of community, even outside of their own personal family and people. They worked together, and Westeros could learn a thing or two from them.

“I raised Walking Crow on my own, in a way.” Arrowhead continued. “There was Drumbeat and Forest Water, she's actually our aunt through our mother, but I was the one to raise him. And to see him now...becoming a man? It feels that not that long ago I was teaching him to walk.”

Chest aching in sympathy, Sansa replied, “And you did so well. Walking Crow is good, and a strong fighter. He will live well.”

“You'll make sure of it?” Arrowhead whispered, a hint of desperation in his words. There was something more to his statement, one that confused her, but she agreed nonetheless.

“I will. I'll try not to drag him into too much danger as well.”

Her light joke made him chuckle faintly. “I am grateful that we found you at the beach.”

“So am I.”

The group that left early spring for hunting came back a week later, along with their traded wares from Jaxton's trading post. Sansa had been given the offer to join the group, as that was her first experience with the tribe, however Sansa wished to stay in the village. Her subsequent decision kept Fawn there too, deciding she hadn't wanted to miss out on anything fun that Sansa and Fox would get up to.

The Chief's daughter wasn't given the option though, mainly due to the father not wanting his daughter in dangerous territory. The young woman had confessed to her two friends months ago that due to her mother also having passed during the same sickness that took much of the tribe, the father was reluctant to allow her to leave the safety of the village.

“He had promised that when I am a little older, I'll be allowed.” Fox then added with bubbling excitement, eyes sparkling at the idea of seeing more of the world outside of the valley. Although Fawn agreed with her, encouraging the young woman that maybe it could be next year that the three of them join the hunting group, Sansa was slightly doubtful.

Though her own father was a distant man to her, he was protective. Ned Stark was already reluctant to have had her and her sister join him South, so she could imagine that the Chief was just the same. Hopefully Fox's father actually explained his reasoning – whatever they may be – instead of just ordering her, like Sansa's father did with her.

With the hunting group's return, there was a celebration over the turning of the season, along with their bountiful food they had grown and gathered in preparation for winter once more. Giving thanks to the Great Spirits, Sansa had a good evening dancing with her friends and talking besides the fire.

At one point Heavy Runner, who was part of the ceremonial dancing and covered in bright and elaborate regalia, had flashed her a grin as he went around the flames. Sansa convinced herself that it was the heat of the fire that warmed her cheeks.

She was still not sure what to think of the young man's compliments, as that one morning was not the first one. He would find her times as they were completing their usual task and talk with her, slipping in compliments and bordering on flirtatious comments. On one hand, Sansa was flattered to have such attention, reminding her of the happier times before everything went wrong in Westeros. But on the other hand, she did not wish to encourage it, knowing to could not go any further, which outweighed the other far more. So, she made sure to keep conversations polite and friendly, but not enough to make it seem like she wanted anything past that. It was exhausting work, similar to the deadly line she walked in King's Landing, careful to not offend or get hurt due to one misplaced word.

Sansa debated bringing it up with the girls, wanting their advice and knowing that Fawn would love the gossip, but Fox made her falter in doing so. The slightly older girl seemed to hold some flame for Heavy Runner, and she didn't wish to step on any toes. It got to the point that if both were in her vicinity, Sansa would focus on her work or just Fox, in order to not cause any problems. It was growing on to become uncomfortable that she would hurriedly walk in a different direction if she caught sight of Heavy Runner before he saw her in turn.

It was all so mind muddling and what she wouldn't give to hear Walking Crow's advice on how to handle this matter. So she went somewhere else for help. Sansa made a mention to all of this to Drumbeat, one night. Sansa had decided to spend a few evenings every week with him and Forest Water, building up a closer bond with the pair and finding a second set of parents in them. The man had frowned deeply at her explanation over their dinner.

“That is inappropriate.”

Sansa flushed at his unhappy tone, ducking her head down over her dinner bowl. “I know, I'm sorry-”

He cut her off with a raised hand, words halting to a stop. The man shared an loaded glance with his wife, who had paused in her eating during Sansa's explanation. When Drumbeat looked back to her, the man explained firmly, “It's not you that's in the wrong, little trout. He is.”

“He is to be married to Fox.” Forest Water softly added.

Her head snapped up, astonished and gaping. “You have arranged marriages here!?”

Drumbeat seemed to recall their past conversations of Sansa's place of birth, going by the light of recognition in his eyes by her tone, and scowled deeper. “Not in such the way that you think. Heavy Runner is a child from the Tall Elk tribe, his father being from there originally. Heavy Runner was a possibility for a chief of that tribe, and with how well he has proven his capabilities, he one that is in line for Chief here now.”

“Is it traditional, for a Chief's daughter to marry the next leader?” Sansa asked, wondering if that was what was happening here, trying to compare it to what she was familiar with.

“At times, yes.” Drumbeat replied. “Not always, as sometimes a pair does not match well with one another, and we do not like unhappy marriages.”

“Not good for the tribe.” Forest Water added with a nod.

“Fox and Heavy Runner have shown a closeness in their youth, so it is expected they will marry. Neither have shown a disinterest in the marriage.”

“Fox does really like him.” Sansa supported that statement with a knowing nod. She had seen the bright gaze sent by her friend to the young man, hanging on to his every word and full of smiles. It made Sansa inwardly grimace at how she had allowed Heavy Runner to continue his flirtations, knowing just how much Fox cared for him. She should've stopped this sooner.

“If Heavy Runner no longer has an interest in this union, he should not be acting in such a way with you.” Drumbeat grumbled with disapproval. “He needs to talk to their parents, to properly dissolve the arrangement before pursuing another.”

“But-” Sansa began to splutter, “I'm not even interested-”

“You need to tell him that.” Drumbeat firmly stated with a pointed look.

Sansa's lips pursed, and she turned her focus back to her bowl. She never told Heavy Runner she was not interested in his flirtations because she was not certain how he would react. Would he lash out, insulted? Would he spread awful rumours? Her placement in the tribe already felt so precarious that Sansa was afraid to upset the balance. It felt easier, to just smile and nod, ignoring the uncomfortable churning in her gut at how it felt like a betrayal to Fox.

“A shame Walking Crow left when he did.” Forest Water then commented softly under her breath. Both Sansa jerked her head up, towards the woman, and she felt a heat crawl up her cheeks. “W-what does that have to do with anything!?”

Arching a dark brow, the woman gave her an incomprehensible knowing look as Drumbeat sighed, softly muttering to his wife, “We were not going to say anything...”

A scowl settled back over her flushing face as she directed it to the man. “What do you mean by that?”

Opening his mouth, Drumbeat seemed to think better of responding and closed it, shaking his head with fond exasperation. Instead, he shoveled some food into his mouth, refusing to expand on either one of those two comments. That emotion and voice that she purposefully ignored grew a little louder, whispering that she knew exactly what they were implying, and immediately gagged that voice.

Love was out of her grasp. Sansa had to be content with what she had currently. It would have to be enough.

In the end, Sansa never got around to telling Heavy Runner to stop. Instead, it all came to a head not a day later.

In the middle of checking up on the sheep herd, gently petting a hand over one's fluffy head, Sansa heard the call of her name. It sounded angry.

Whirling around, the red head saw a furious Fox storming her way, with Fawn hurrying after her angry friend, begging her to stop, to wait.

And there, in the middle of the field, Sansa froze as Fox got into her face to hiss, “Why is it always you?” Her typically sweet face was burning with anger, almond eyes in a deep glare.

Wordlessly, Sansa gaped, unable to find a response at this suddenly change in attitude. Fox has never been like this with her! Not that she would've had the chance to form one, as Fox continued on, growing angrier with every word, finger digging into Sansa's sternum. “Everything has been all about you! You and your dead family, and all your grief! All about how we have to accommodate for you all the time! And now, you've decided that Walking Crow wasn't enough for you! That you would steal Heavy Runner away from me!”

Finding her voice once she realised what all of this was about, Sansa croaked out, “I don't want him!”

Fox was not dissuaded by her immediate denial. “Then why did he end our arrangement!? He said it was because he didn't want me anymore! And I know he's been hanging around you since he's returned.”

“I never asked for him to! I didn't want him-”

“Why are you so selfish!?” Fox bellowed. Sansa snapped her mouth shut. She had never been yelled at in such a way, not even by Arya. She had no idea on how to handle this situation and was becoming overwhelmed.“I never get a choice! I never can have something that is mine, and the one thing that was to be, doesn't even want me! I'm always second best! I'm always last pick! You've stolen Fawn, my best friend! And now you would steal-”

“Enough!” Fawn cut in, shoving herself in between the two of them, finally stepping in. Sansa gratefully took the chance to suck in a sharp breath, not having realised she forgot to breathe. Stumbling back a few steps, Sansa felt her body shaking as the eldest of them reprimanded Fox, “You are being cruel, saying things you don't mean out of anger and hurt.”

Fox drew herself up, ready to shout again when Fawn snapped, “No! You do not get to hurt others because of your pain! That is not fair of you.” Then, she turned to Sansa, not yelling but tone equally disappointed. “And you never stopped him. You let him flirt, knowing that Fox-”

“I didn't know!” Sansa finally burst out, a rope in her chest fraying to snap under too much tension. “I never knew until last night! I didn't know you two were to be married, and I never wanted him to like me! I didn't know what to say-”

“You should've told him to stop!” Fox shouted back.

“It's never worked before!” Sansa cried. “No one ever stopped when I told them to! Why would this time be any different!?”

Fox scoffed with a sneer, “Making it all about you again-”

“Because it's my own life, I'm allowed to make it about me, Fox.” Sansa hissed back, stepping closer to get into her friend's face. The sensation of being caught off guard was fading away, replaced by indignation and hurt at the accusations. By her sides, Sansa felt her hands curl into fists.

“I think,” A cool voice cut through all the tension, “That everyone needs to take a few steps back.”

The three of them turned to see Has The Eagle, standing not too far from them. His large form towering above them, the mask in place covering what would no doubt be a disapproving expression. It was a miracle that they were so far from the village, but Sansa could see many had stopped to observe their argument at a distance. Shame and mortification burnt hot in her chest, and she felt tears building up. Doing as the man asked, Sansa took a few steps back, hugging herself. She couldn't meet anyone's gaze, eyes fixed on the grass. Violence created by desperation had began to bubble in her chest, and she had no idea what she would've done if Has The Eagle hadn't interrupted them.

“As young women of the tribe, you are not children anymore, bickering as you were. One should never start a discussion with anger in their heart.”

Peeking her head up at his reprimanding words, Sansa caught sight of the other two glancing away, uncomfortable and suitably rebuked. The medicine man then turned to Sansa. “Now, perhaps a chance to clear your heads and talk away from outsiders' view would be for the best. I have herbs that need to be collected. Please gather your baskets and knives and meet by the forest.”

Fox went to protest, but quieted when Has The Eagle held up a silencing hand. “I will give you the list, Fawn. Now, go.”

Sansa immediately took off running to the hut with that order, making sure to meet no one's gaze as she went, humiliation burning in her chest, along with all the other jumbled emotions. When she stumbled into the home, it was empty, and she finally had a moment to choke out a sob. Never had she had such an argument with a friend, nor had any kind of conflict lead her to the possibility of violence.

Except when Joffrey showed her her father's head, and she was ready to shove him off the battlements. Ready to kill him out of rage and grief. It was a sour taste on her tongue, her stomach full of stones, not liking that dark part of her that tried to rise up again.

Though she wanted to stay in the hut for the rest of the day, weeping to herself and shoving down all hints of aggression for someone she cared for, Sansa did as she was told. Taking a fortifying, though shaky breath, she tucked her knife onto her belt, grasped her basket, and then at the last minute pulled on her quiver and snatched up her bow. They were going into the forest. It was dangerous, even if they were just collecting plants. Best to not let emotions over take any rationality in the face of the wilderness.

When she met up with the other two, Sansa saw the glower on Fox's face, the young woman gripping her spear mulishly and huffing at the sight of the red head. Quickly looking away, Sansa took the lead into the treeline in order to get their time forced together out of the way. She had plans to hide away in Drumbeat and Forest Water's home. Fawn stumbled after her, with the last of them taking the rear in furious silence that weighed on the females heavily. The eldest of them tentatively began to list out what they needed to get, however it seemed like no one had herb collecting on their minds, just walking and stewing in their emotions.

She didn't know how far she led them into the forest before Fox finally broke. “Can't you just admit that you are in the wrong?”

Whirling around, Sansa spat, “I tried to apologise but you didn't want that! Is it not enough to say that I did not want to cause you any pain, and that I intended to stop him?”

“The fact that you let him to begin with is why I'm angry!”

“I didn't know you liked him until much later! He never talked about any sort of connection with you outside of being friends.” Immediately, Sansa wished she took that back at the flash of hurt on Fox's face before the girl rallied once more.

However, a rustling in the brush caught Sansa's attention from the argument at hand, and turned to glance in that direction, only half listening to whatever Fox was going to say next, and froze. Staring unblinking at the animal, unable to remove her gaze from it, Sansa blindly reached out to smack Fox's arm for her attention.

“Wha-” The older girl went to snarl, only to cut herself off with a tiny gasp when she saw the animal too. It was followed by a whispered curse from Fawn, the last to notice but no less full of dread.

The three stared at the bear that was snuffling the ground. It either knew they were there and did not care, or it was oblivious. And that would've been fine either way, if it wasn't a cub. Bears tend not to be immediately aggressive, only acting when threatened or hungry, and generally avoid humans if they are making a lot of noise. However, a cub was a curious creature, and that spelt danger.

“Do you see the mother?” Fawn hissed to them, and immediately the three were glancing up and around the area. Fear curled around her entire body as she realised how quiet the forest had become. As silently as possible, Sansa placed her basket on the ground before taking out an arrow, notching it to the bow string and readying herself.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Fawn taking out her knife and Fox raising up her spear. They shuffled around until their backs were pressed against one another, eyes and ears peeled for any hint of the mother. Slowly, carefully, they moved back the way they came, Sansa having to step backwards as she kept her gaze on the cub, which now noticed them. It tilted it's head to the side, sniffling the air.

It then called out, it's roar high and not so fearsome.

Sansa felt the dread fall into her stomach, closing her eyes for a brief moment to pray to any of the gods that may listen, as an answering roar came from not too far from their left.

“Run.” Fox breathed, and they burst into motion, uncaring of how loud they may be. Stepping quietly through forests was something all the people of the tribe learnt young, something Sansa had begun to get the hang of in the last year. And though they tried to step lightly, remembering their lessons, panic was overtaking all of that, the need to get out of the woods and away from the protective mother bear being their first priority, seeing as the mother already knew they were there..

When the crashing through the bushes and foliage sounded behind them, Sansa at the back of the group glanced behind and screamed, “Dodge!”

They managed to just in time, the black bear barreling on past them as they leapt to the sides and out of the animal's war path.

It roared, huffing angrily as it skidded to a stop, turning to face them. Hands shaking, Sansa notched her arrow, and took aim. As it charged them again, Sansa fired. She missed it's head, her trembling body redirecting the trajectory to it's shoulder.

Arrowhead once told her that a pack of wolves was preferable to an angry bear, wolves easier to fell with an arrow than a single bear. And he wasn't wrong, as the arrow struck it's body, it only made the beast angrier. Sansa darted to the side once more, now having it's full attention. You could not out run a bear, but they were hulking beasts, so you could dodge relatively quickly, as long as you kept out of reach of it's paws.

Which Sansa did not manage to do as she tried to fire at it again, only for it to get close enough to swipe at her shoulder.

Screaming out in pain, the red head did her best to scamper back, terror flowing through her blood, just as a large rock was thrown, hitting hard against the animal's head. It roared again, spinning around to Fawn. The oldest girl's eyes were blown wide with fear, holding another rock aloft just as Fox threw her spear. With it distracted, Sansa snatched up her fallen weapon, muffling a cry of pain at the way it pulled at her wound, and took quick steps back to put space between her and the bear. She was tempted to just flee, but she would not abandon her friends, no matter how unhappy they were with one another.

The spear lodged into the animal's side, the bear roaring once more in both pain and fury, turning to Fox next. Clutching her bleeding wound, the sting of the pain feeling like a burn from flames, Sansa desperately thought of a way to get them out of this alive.

Another crashing through the forest came from behind her and for a split second Sansa thought them to be dead, another bear to kill them. Only for a blur of white fur to lunge out, teeth snapping and snarling as White Claw jumped onto the bear's back.

Her wolf clawed and sunk sharp fangs into the bear's thick hide, distracting the large animal from the three girls enough for Fox to come bolting over to Sansa's side. Quickly unwinding the fabric sash around her waist, the girl began to wrap it around her bleeding shoulder. For a split second, Sansa tasted hot blood in her mouth, and smelt a heavy animal musk in her nose, before she shook that away.

A high yelp resounded, and Sansa cried out, “White Claw!” As her companion was thrown off the back of the bear. The wolf slunk off to the side, the two beasts prowling one another. An animalistic hunger and excitement flooded her mind, and Sansa had to press onto her hastily wrapped wound to bring her back to her body. Warging right now, something she hadn't practiced with at all, would not be good.

Then, Fawn threw her rock at the bear again, gaining it's attention once more. When it's head whipped to her, White Claw took that as an opportunity to lunge, biting into the other animal's neck. The blood was strong on her tongue. Tossing it's head side to side,the bear furiously trying to throw White Claw off, Fawn called to them, “Call her off! I got an idea!”

“Is it going to kill you!?” Sansa couldn't help but scream back, hysterical.

“Uhh...” Fawn dragged out, eyes darting between them and the bear.“Maybe?”

Once more, White Claw was thrown off again, and this time, she didn't get up as easily as before. The whine that escaped Sansa's lips echoed from the wolf's. Not having to call her companion off now, Fawn took that opportunity to throw another rock, backing up quickly as she went.

Locking onto her, the bear let out another earth shaking roar, before it began to charge the girl, who had gained some distance between her and the animal.

However, instead of running away or dodging, Fawn let out her own roar, a high battle cry that split the air before charging at the bear. Fox and Sansa let out their own wordless cries, holding one another, as they watched their friend run headlong towards the animal, only to drop down at the last second. Her lithe body skid across the forest ground, the bear thundering over the top of her.

Jumping back up after a roll to the side, Sansa was caught in a moment of confusion wondering what exactly her friend had just done, only to notice that her knife was missing from her hand. Then, the bear let out a cry as it lumbered to the side, staggering as it turned to face them again, only to slump over.

It was then that both Fox and Sansa spotted the thick trail of blood that followed after where the bear had charged. “Fawn...” Fox whispered, astonished.

“Get your bow, quick!” Fawn hissed to Sansa.

Wincing through the pain, Sansa fumbled to do just that. Fox helped her up, bracing her body on the other side as the stumbled towards the groaning bear. At their approach, it tried to stand back up, only for some of it's guts and entrails to spill out from the deep gouge Fawn had made to it's soft underbelly.

Notching an arrow, Sansa tried to pull back on the tight bowstring, faltering with a cry of pain from her shoulder. Fox then reached around and helped her draw back again, providing the strength as Sansa aimed at the head of the bear.

She stalled at the sight of it's dark eyes, staring wide at her with pain and helplessness. For a short second, she felt agony from her stomach and desperation thundering in her heart. Bile rose up in her throat when she shoved that back, just as she released the arrow. It hit it's mark with a meaty sound, squelching through the head of the bear.

There was silence.

Sansa then shoved Fox off in time to turn her head to the side and throw up. Feeling the hands of her friends brace her from toppling over, Sansa coughed up the food in her stomach, before croaking out, “White Claw...”

“I'll see to her,” Fawn quickly promised, concerned eyes darting over Sansa's injured form. “And I'll get her to the village, bring others back.”

Turning to the older of the three of them, Sansa finally noticed the blood that dressed the front of her clothes, as well as the hand that stabbed into the bear. It would be a horrifying sight for the village, but more people would be a good thing. There was no way they would be able to carry that bear back.

“Hurry.” Fox urged their friend.

Nodding, Fawn ran off to White Claw, and presumably to the village after. Fox then eased Sansa over to the closest tree, where they slumped down and stared at the warm carcass of the black bear. Her shoulder was pulsing with bright hot pain, the excitement and fear now simmering down to where she was beginning to feel a little dizzy from the rush. Sansa leant to rest heavily onto Fox, her hand coming up to press the sash into her wound, it now tacky with her blood.

Fox stiffened. Sansa doing so a little belatedly, recalling that they were arguing not too long ago.

Sniffling, everything suddenly hitting her, Sansa hoarsely cried, “Please don't hate me!” Then fell into a coughing fit, the bile and vomit burning her mouth. Fox fumbled before shoving a water skein to her lips, where the red head greedily gulped down the cool liquid.

With her throat soothed, Sansa turned to Fox with wet eyes to try again, “I never wanted anything from him, I promise. Maybe I liked the attention for a little while, but I knew nothing would come of it. At least not on my part. And I didn't even know you two were to be married until last night! Drumbeat told me everything, and I felt so horrible even before hand, because I realised you liked him. I just didn't want to make him angry if I told him to stop, because men would all the time in Westeros, and-”

“Oh Sansa!” Fox cried, pulling her into a tight embrace, minding Sansa's shoulder. Sobbing hard into the older girl's shoulder, Sansa continued to wail, “Please don't hate me! I won't be selfish anymore, I'll stop-”

“No!” Fox interrupted, pressing closer, “I never should've said all that! You're not to blame, I was just hurt. So much I thought I had gotten over years ago came back suddenly that I just couldn't think past my pain.” Sitting back, the other girl gripped Sansa's arms as she continued, eyes wide and spilling tears. “I was letting my own pain lash out, like Fawn said. It that was not fair of me. You didn't deserve that.”

“Y-you said I took her attention from you...” Sansa blubbered, causing Fox to wince. “I was a little jealous when you first arrived.” She admitted, and Sansa felt more shame well up in her chest. Noticing from whatever expression she must be making on her face, Fox rushed out, “But I promise I got over it! Really, I value your friendship so much, and you really don't take up all her attention!”

“Then why did you say that?”

Sighing a little, Fox murmured with a voice filled with shame. “Because she's always been like a sister to me, her aunt and grandmother helping my father take care of me. And then you get to live with her in the way I always wanted to, and I was jealous. But I promise, I'm not anymore. I haven't been for ages. I got over it weeks after you arrived, but everything spilled over when Heavy Runner said he had not interest in marrying me anymore...”

“He's any idiot.” Sansa huffed snottily. “You're beautiful, and smart, and kind, and if he can't see that then he is stupid. And you don't deserve a stupid husband.”

With a wet laugh, Fox smiled tremulously, “Thank you, Sansa. I'm sorry for how I treated you.”

Leaning forward, a little light headed from the blood loss now, Sansa mumbled, “Just don't be mad at me again, and all is forgiven.”

“I promise.” Fox vowed, wrapping her arms back around Sansa. They waited in their peaceful resolution in silence, hearing in the distance as people began to approach their location. Sansa didn't know how they reacted to the sight of them, nor what happened next, as she fell into a darkness before they reached them.

Chapter Text

When Drumbeat first met Sansa, his initial impression of the girl was that she was a miserable and lost little thing. They had seen people that were not from their Blue Mountain tribes, their differing appearance to the tribes' more familiar dark hair and skin colour. The man that ran the trading post had light hair and pale skin, weathered by the sun albeit, but Drumbeat has never seen one with hair as red and bright as the girl's.

The next impression, once Arrowhead got her out of the water, and they got her changed into a spare set of his clothes, was that she was lost. Both physically, and mentally. There was a grief that haunted her, one he had seen in the fellow tribes people after the sickness. He had seen it in Forest Water's eyes, after the loss of her sister, and in many others as well.

And the third impression, was that there was still a fire within her, under the drowning of grief and pain. Though they could not understand one another, he knew a tone full of attitude from a child, and was greatly amused. As well as impressed with her courage in chiding people she had just met. However, going by the way her pale skin reddened deeply in embarrassment soon after, she was not the type that usually spoke in such a way.

They did not intend to have her help out, Arrowhead murmuring to him as she changed behind Walking Crow, “Her hands are soft from no work.” Which they then concluded she was not one familiar with the basic tasks of setting up a camp. However, she showed an admirable initiative to help, even with her uncertainty on what to do. They used hand gestures to show her how to make the bread for dinner, along with gathering water for them to drink.

She was quick on her feet, eager. Feeding tinder into the flames, Drumbeat observed her movements closely, watching her expressions as she went about the camp. There was a wide eyed look to her, darting about to any of the others that made any motion. It held a the kind of wildness one would see from a skittish animal. It reminded Drumbeat of the runt of the litter in the dogs they had in the tribe. The runt that had to fight for food and had to be careful of it's own litter mates teeth and larger bodies.

That was the last thing he concluded about her that evening. She was no physical fighter, but she had survived something. And it wasn't just her washing ashore, as how else would a girl like her suddenly wind up so close to the ocean and all alone.

Sansa, her name was. Walking Crow was helpful enough to get her to introduce herself after stating his own name. She was quick on picking up on the pronunciations in their language, though her thick accent and her way of enunciating certain sounds making it almost impossible to understand at first. But when she smiled wide at getting it correct, Drumbeat couldn't stop the warmth in his chest at the sight of it, after having only seen her with a miserable or wary expression.

Through out the time he spent with her as the days crept by, Drumbeat did what he could to brighten her mood, with either a kind word and gesture. Those then progressed to words of advice and a listening ear as the weeks went on when they reconnected with the hunting party.

He could not pin point the exact moment, but one day, Drumbeat looked to Sansa as she played with her friends, and he knew he loved her dearly.

Drumbeat sat still and silent, watching his slumbering daughter. Sansa's wound had been dressed, along with White Claw who was currently slumbering by the girl's feet. He pale skin held less of a deathly pallor after being treated, though her cheeks still lacked the rosy blush they typically had.

Letting out a shuddering sigh for the hundredth time, Drumbeat gently picked up her hand where it laid over the blankets and pressed his forehead to the cold fingers. When he closed his eyes, he could still see the sight of her, slumped against a panicking Fox, still and covered in blood.

Fawn had stumbled out of the forest not too long after the girls marched into it, carrying the large body of a whimpering White Claw and screaming for help. Restless One, the tribesman who watched over the village's dogs, had rushed forward, taking the wolf, the girl stumbled due the removal of the weight.

Many gasped at the blood that coated the front of her clothes as she pointed back to the forest, with panicked words, “Sansa needs help! There was a bear-”

Drumbeat felt the rush of blood in his ears as his heart frozen at Fawn's words. “Where?” He demanded, stepping closer and holding back to urge to run blindly into the forest in search for his daughter. Fawn waved him to follow as she quickly took back off into the trees. He could hear distantly that a few other tribesmen were following them, another calling for the Chief and Medicine Man. However, Drumbeat's focus was on Fawn's back as the girl ran, him keeping pace easily.

He smelt the stench of blood before he saw Sansa and Fox. But when Drumbeat did catch sight of them, for a heart stopping moment he thought Sansa to be dead. It was as Fawn staggered to a stop, gasping for breath that Drumbeat shook himself of the terror that gripped him and fell to his knees before the two girls. The new father had only a short moment of rationality to look over both of the girls, making sure Sansa wasn't the only one harmed, before scooping his child up when Fox appeared more shaken than anything else, barring a few bruises.

A few of the other tribesmen helped Fox up or gathered around the dead black bear. Drumbeat however only spared a glance at the dead beast – arrow in it's head and guts spilling out – far more focused on how limp Sansa was in his arms. Her shoulder was haphazardly wrapped in a sash that must have been from one of the other girl's, a hasty solution to stem the bleeding. The man could feel how shallow her breathing was, as well as how the blood continued to seep out of the fabric. She was losing blood, and losing it fast.

Without a second thought, Drumbeat sprinted back to the village, Fawn and Fox at his heels.

Drumbeat, looking back on the moment, could not find the words to describe the fear he felt. He had only just be able to call Sansa his daughter without fear of upsetting her or overstepping their boundaries. And now, she was close to death in his arms. He could not lose her. Drumbeat refused to and would fight the Great Spirits themselves if he had to in order to keep her alive and safe.

Has The Eagle ran forward when they came back to the camp, barreling through the treeline, and Drumbeat was reluctant to hand her over to the man even as he did so. All he could think of was when she was sick and begging for him to stay. At the time, he only knew a handful of her first tongue, Sansa having taught him some over the months they had together. The ones she spoke he was unfamiliar with besides 'please' and 'father'. The rest was incomprehensible. Only her tone, pleading and full of misery, let him know she was not in a good head space, too sick to understand what she was saying in the moment. Later confirmed when she forgot about her delirium during her fever, and Drumbeat pretended it didn't hurt.

He nearly stayed when she called for 'father', however. But left after a stern look from the Has The Eagle. Drumbeat didn't sleep that night, laying next to a slumbering Forest Water and pretending that the father she was calling for was him and not her real one.

Drumbeat like when he couldn't tell the exact moment when he began to care for her, the man was also unsure when his view of the relationship the two of them shifted from being friendly, to something far more paternal. Maybe it was when Sansa had wrapped her arms around him exuberantly, having finally learnt the word for 'trout', Drumbeat feeling grateful that she allowed herself to be so open with him. Or perhaps it was when she looked at them with tearful astonishment after finding out they stood guard outside the moon tipi, and he had felt a surge of protective affection.

But, maybe it was earlier in their relationship, when Sansa first ran from the hunting party, away from the girls who had teased. He saw her break down, speaking in his broken tongue but primarily her own. It was only weeks later when she actually explained what had happened to her in his tongue, but at the time, all Drumbeat could do was stare at the scars she presented him and offer what tiny amount of comfort that he could.

It had reminded him strongly of when Forest Water had broken down, the first time he had ever seen his wife upset to the point of tears, over the dreaded but suspected conclusion that they wouldn't be able to have children. They had gone to Has The Eagle for assistance, and even after the offered herbs and mixtures that had helped others in the past, this time it didn't for them. His wife had wept the entire night, Drumbeat holding her close and whispering paltry apologies. And that was all he could do for Sansa over her grief and past pain.

When he learnt what happened later, Drumbeat's rage was a terrifying thing to behold within himself, especially knowing that it was for one he hadn't known for that long. However, Sansa seemed to have this ability to charm people with her sweet smiles and kind nature, even through her mourning, so Drumbeat gave into the knowledge that he cared for this girl that early on.

It continued to escalate as they continued to orbit around one another, sharing meals, helping out the girl in her chores, or just conversing. She herself seemed uncertain of their relationship, and he wondered how much of that was due to her grief. But nonetheless, it grew stronger, and Drumbeat had slowly begun to think of her as his own child. He was helpless to it, and it solidified when Forest Water doted upon Sansa in a way that she rarely did. As a closed off woman, it was not obvious to anyone but him, but Drumbeat could see it. His wife loved Sansa too.

And then, after Walking Crow departed and he watched with fondness at their goodbyes – truly he would not be surprised if their return led to the proper start of their courtship – Sansa had come to him one evening and confessed to how she saw him as a father.

For a long moment, Drumbeat was so overcome with joy he could not respond. So elated that the love he felt for this girl was returned, and that he finally had the child he had always wanted.

A daughter that was nearly taken from him today.

Drumbeat had seen the argument from the distance, the volume carrying even if their words were incomprehensible. It was actually Forest Water that was the one to nearly go to them, only for him to place a hand on her shoulder. As a woman who kept her facial expressions neutral out of habit than anything else, many would have a hard time deciphering them.

However, he could see the worry in the very slight furrow of her brow and the tightness at the corner of her lips. He had heard about first time parents, worried and hovering over their child, afraid they would get harmed in some form. And maybe that would be fine for a young child, but not for one who had the markings to demonstrate her step into womanhood. Sansa would have to find a way to resolve this herself. But, the new parents knew that if she came to them for advice, as she had done before many times in the past, they would be more than ready to offer any words of wisdom that they could, along with support and comfort should Sansa desire it.

When Has The Eagle sent the girls off into the forest, Drumbeat nodded in approval as he stated to Forest Water reassuringly, “We can talk with Sansa tonight, let them try and reconcile this problem themselves first. They are young women and need to learn peaceful resolutions.”

A near silent sigh escaped his wife's nose. Reluctant but agreeing. Pressing a kiss to her head, they parted ways, off to do their usual work for mid day. Drumbeat would regret not having let Forest Water try and break up the argument for the rest of his days.

And now, with Sansa having been treated by Has The Eagle and placed into Drumbeat's home, he sat watch. Running Crane had tried to have his daughter placed into the usual hut that Sansa stayed in, an unhappy frown on her face. However, Forest Water was the one to put her foot down when Drumbeat wavered, thinking that as Sansa's first caretaker, it made sense. His wife disagreed.

“She has accepted us as her parents.” The quiet woman stated firmly, “You are free to visit her, but she will be in our care.”

“Very well.” The elder accepted after a tense moment of silent contemplation.

“Is she alright?” Fawn had piped up, still tucked under her aunt's arm. The girl had been briefly looked over after Has The Eagle treated Sansa, and deemed only a little bruised up, more shaken than anything else.

Drumbeat softened, nodding to the young woman. “She is. Has The Eagle is still with her right now, but deemed her unconscious due to blood loss and pain. Sansa will live, if with a scar.”

They all sighed in relief. 'Oh Sansa,' Drumbeat thought to himself, 'Do you know just how loved you are?'

At the thought of Sansa having a scar, though the tribe did not look down on those with scars, no matter how they were obtained, he feared Sansa's reaction to her new scar. He hoped she wouldn't be so ashamed as with the ones that doted her legs and back. In this year's summer, Sansa had begun to wear dresses that showed her lower legs. The scars were so faint that one would not be able to notice even when standing next to her, needing to be at eye level to see the silvery marks. But it was what they represented that made it difficult for her to show them, more than what they looked like physically. Hopefully, the bear's clawed injury would not have her so ashamed.

The short gust of cool air from the opening of the hut flap pulled Drumbeat from his memories and musings. Reluctant, he turned his gaze from Sansa to see Arrowhead. He was panting, out of breath as he demanded, “What happened? I was on the other side of the lake all morning, and then I come back to Sansa injured!?”

Shushing the young man, Drumbeat waved him over as he explained, “A bear. The girls had an argument, which made Has The Eagle send them off to the forest.” Pursing his lips, Arrowhead nodded in understanding. A familiar solution done many times in the past. Drumbeat kept his voice lowered as the young man sat beside him, continuing on, “From Fox and Fawn's explanation, they had been arguing when they noticed a cub. Fox said it was Sansa who spotted it, and they tried to leave as quickly as they could, only for the cub called for it's mother.”

Looking sick, Arrowhead turned to Sansa, not saying anything. Drumbeat looked to his daughter as well, once more holding her hand and staring at the poultice slathered wound. The skin under it was raw and red, though no longer bleeding. It clipped into her collar bone, dragging down the front only briefly before continuing on down the bicep of her right arm. The miracle was the fact that Sansa had most likely been moving out of the way as she was hit, which allowed for her arm to still be intact.

Swallowing the nausea down at the thought of his child having her arm clawed off, Drumbeat finished, throat filling with a lump. “The bear got Sansa as she was shooting it.” He spied the way Arrowhead's fist clenched tight at the information and quickly summed up the rest of the story. “White Claw distracted the bear long enough for Fawn to come up with a plan. She gutted it from underneath, you will have to get more details from them in the morning.”

With that finished, the two fell into silence for a long while.

The girls were in the safe arms of their families, the Chief having sequestered his daughter away into their home. Everyone knew of how protective the man was of his only child, and he secretly wondered if this event meant he would bar Fox from even going to the forest now. Hopefully not, she was a young woman now, and had a right to her own decisions, even if Drumbeat could understand the choice on the other man's part. He would do the same with Sansa if he didn't know just how much that would put any healing she had achieved over the year back many steps. She needed a father who cared and looked out for her, not one that controlled her life.

Later, when Forest Water returned from gathering dinner for them that evening, she looked at the other male in the hut and commented, “I assume you will be staying here tonight, Arrowhead.”

Said man looked up at her, a little lost in his thoughts. Then, once her words registered, he nodded gratefully, shoulders slumping in relief. “Thank you, aunt. I don't know how well I would sleep tonight...”

Reaching over, Drumbeat wrapped an arm around his nephew's shoulder and dragged him into his side. Only seven years older than Walking Crow, Arrowhead matured far quicker than many of his age group due to the loss of both parents and having to take care of his barely a year old brother. They stayed in Drumbeat and Forest Water's home for a few years, but the boy was adamant at being the primary carer for his brother. At the time they did not fight that decision as much as they probably should of, having unintentionally placed too much responsibility on his young shoulders.

However, the couple were dealing with their own issues, and it made for an all around stilted and awkward few years until Arrowhead moved him and his brother out and back to their old home when the older boy was ten.

Drumbeat regretted never having done more, and he knew Forest Water felt the same. They reached out later, and managed to build a familial closeness, but it still lingered like a bad taste on his tongue, how they hadn't tried hard enough.

The next morning, Sansa was still asleep. She had more colour in her cheeks this time, and Drumbeat was hopeful she would awaken soon. As Forest Water began to reapply more poultice to the wound, cleaning away the previous application, Drumbeat and Arrowhead left the hut. The younger man sighed hard, stretching as he turned to the older man. “Family is going to get weird.”

Arching a brow, Drumbeat silently sent a question his way with one look.

“You know, because we are your nephews, and Walking Crow is going to marry Sansa one day, and she's your daughter. Weird.” He added in emphasis at the end, a tiny amused smile on his lips as the man walked off to his own home.

Snorting to himself, Drumbeat shook his head with exasperation. Then, as he was giving a cursory glance around the village, he caught sight of Heavy Runner lurking nearby. The young man appeared to be busying himself with some netting for the fish, however the looks he was sending towards Drumbeat's home – to where Sansa was – lit a fire in the man's chest.

When Heavy Runner caught sight of Drumbeat stalking his way, he blanched, taking a retreating step back before trying to hold his ground as they were all taught in the face of adversity. He would admire the young man's bravery, if he wasn't so angry.

“This is on you.” Drumbeat growled low once he was close enough.

Heavy Runner frowned, “I did not cause the bear-”

“You flirted with my daughter, when you knew very well that you had no right to.”

“I am not to marry Fox-”

“Not anymore, no.” Drumbeat conceded on that front, though not giving anymore ground on this topic after that. “But you still have no right, especially where you are not wanted.”

“Sansa never showed any disinterest.” Heavy Runner argued, “She never said stop-”

“If you knew anything about her, then you would know she is terrified of men.” Drumbeat thundered, the warning heard clearly enough to keep the younger man silent. “That she grew up differently, in a place where women can't say no. You put her in an uncomfortable position, making her feel as if she was betraying her friend. You would know all that, if you took the time to actually understand her, instead of following your own whims and desires.”

There was a darkening of Heavy Runner's skin, frustration showing as he protested. “That still does not mean I caused the bear to attack her.”

He knew Heavy Runner's father personally, the man a strong warrior, skilled hunter, and determined. Traits he passed onto his son. However, he never knew Antlers when he was young, and wondered if he was as ignorant to others feelings when he was Heavy Runner's age.

Taking one firm step closer, Drumbeat narrowed his eyes as he rumbled coldly, “If you did not bother Sansa, if you did not hurt Fox's feelings, they never would've fought, and they never would've been sent into the forest. They never would've come across the bear, and Sansa never would've been hurt. I know many would tell me to not place blame on anyone, as we co-exist with nature, no matter what comes. But as a father, I am furious with you.”

There was a flash of regret in Heavy Runner's eyes, before that stubbornness came back, shoving away any possibility of true remorse for the moment. The younger man drew himself up, the confidence of a new warrior who has not seen loss or battle. “Are you telling me I can no longer talk with Sansa then? Going to control who she is allowed to see?”

The jab did not hit Drumbeat as Heavy Runner had hoped, because the older man was not so easily riled by such pettiness. He instead looked down at the shorter male and succinctly stated, “No, because I know for a fact she will not care to talk with you. Because you hurt Fox, and Sansa is loyal and fiercely protective of the ones she loves. You would know that, if you actually tried to understand her.” The man reiterated one last time.

Heavy Runner's face settled into a steely expression, even as he did not reply to Drumbeat's last words. With one last pointed glare, the older man marched off, having said his piece. He knew Sansa would have to talk to Heavy Runner at some point, his daughter not wishing to disrupt the peace, even when it was not her fault. Her necessity to not step on toes and blend into the background one he knew stemmed from her time in the hands of her enemies, and Drumbeat would do his best to show her that she did not need to be so cautious. It would take time, but he hoped.

Oh, how he hoped for his child.

Sansa awoke mid day, bleary eyed and befuddled with her surroundings for a long moment. When White Claw nosed at her hand, the wolf's body still tender and injured, barely making it that far out of the hut when she needed to relieve herself, Sansa smiled with tired relief.

“So brave...” She praised quietly, voice dry from sleep.

Where he sat across the fire, tending to it to keep his daughter warm, Drumbeat let out a low breath, tension finally releasing him at the knowledge that she had not fallen into a long state of rest to heal. Getting up, Drumbeat knelt down beside her with a cup of water.

“Drink.” He softly encouraged, helping her sit up. As she moved, White Claw set her head back down to go to sleep once more.

Drowsy, Sansa listed into his chest as she did as he requested. Drumbeat held her steady. When she finished, he set the empty cup aside and lowered her back down.

“Are Fawn and Fox alright?”

He smiled to himself at her concern. Of course that was her first question upon waking up. Meeting her earnest and worried gaze, Drumbeat assured her, “Yes. It's the day after, late mid day. Their fright should've worn off now, and they're mainly with bruises. The tribe is celebrating over Fawn's kill of the bear tonight, and her show of courage. I believe she will obtain her new name soon because of it.”

A slow smile crept up Sansa's lips, blue eyes sparkling with delight. “That's wonderful.” Then, she winced as she shifted about on the cot, tugging at her freshly sealed wounds. Trying to peer down at it from her reclined position, Drumbeat brought her focus back to him when she grew pale at the red skin and deep gouging.

Cupping one of her cheeks, Drumbeat gave her a soothed gently. “It's alright. Has The Eagle treated you, it will heal in time. Though, you will have to rest that arm for awhile, so no more archery or chores for you.” He tried to tease, to lighten the mood. It worked to some degree, though she still looked faintly nauseous. Swallowing thickly, Sansa kept her gaze fixed on his, as if determined to not let her eyes stray to her injury. “I don't want it to scar.” Was her tiny response, voice wavering.

Sighing gently, Drumbeat comforted, “There is nothing wrong with scars, little trout. Especially not one that was gained due to fighting a bear.”

“I barely did anything-”

“Fox told me.” He cut off her weak protest kindly. “That it was you that finished the bear, an arrow to the head. I know it should be you that would earn a name from this-”

“No.” Sansa shook her head fervently. “Fawn deserves it. I would never have shot it, if she hadn't gutted it. Besides...” His daughter flashed him a grimace of a smile, “I think I got enough of a permanent mark from that ordeal.”

“To right you have.” He gave a short chuckle, reaching back out to take her hand. Sansa gripped it tight, and a knot in his chest unraveled at the sensation of her squeezing back. Alive. She was alive and awake. “So let us settle on that fact that you survived. And the scar is a demonstration of that. Can you say many young women from your land could do that?”

With a tired snort, Sansa drawled, “I know of many women of the North that could, but I suppose no. Not the majority could. But I had help.”

“And as a tribe, you are never alone. One's success is also the tribe's. You are one of us, and though it was terrifying for you, you have proved it.”

His words seemed to have struck something. Sansa stared up him, gaping a little and shaken. “Does...does that mean I'm part of the tribe now?”

At her tiny and insecure tone, Drumbeat frowned in confusion. “You have always been part of the tribe.” He slowly replied, trying to think over what could be wrong. “The day you introduced yourself to us, you became part of the Red Buffalo tribe.”

“...really?” The wavering of that word had him pausing, eyeing her closely.

“I feel like we are discussing two topics here.”

Sansa's eyes, downcast, drifted to the side as she quietly spoke. “I know you, the tribe that is, have accepted me as someone who lives with you all. And, I guess I felt I was a part of the tribe in some aspects, but I know I was not fully.”

Drumbeat was baffled. “Why wouldn't you be?”

“Because I share no blood with anyone here.” To her factual tone, it was seeped in a hollowness. A knot began to form once more in his chest at her words. “I'm...on the outskirts. I cannot marry, because my husband would want children. Children who would not belong to the tribe.”

“Why would they not belong here?” He felt like they were riding head first to a cliff's edge, and there was nothing Drumbeat could do to prevent it, only listen to the disaster that was coming.

“Because it is the mother that you follow the blood of, right?” Her desperation in her voice was made worse by the tears that began to slip from her eyes, silent as they ran down her temples and into her hair. “Running Crane taught me that the children belong to the mother and her family. I have no blood family here, which means the children will not be part of the tribe. They would have no home here, nor in my land. I couldn't-”

“Sansa. The blood does not matter.” Drumbeat had to interrupt, reaching out to cup her cheeks once more, wiping away her tears. Sniffling, Sansa looked at him again finally. Staring at her, unwavering in his gaze, Drumbeat firmly explained, “You are declared part of the tribe. Forest Water and I have adopted you as ours, you are also adopted twice over by Running Crane and Quick With Water, as they also see you as their own. You can freely marry and have children, if you so wish. I don't know who or what has made you think you are not completely a part of the tribe, but you are. This is home for you, if you want it to be. We are family.”

Eyes wide, Sansa didn't breathe for a long moment. Then, with a gasp of a air, stuttered and shaking, his daughter whispered, the question making his heart break, “Does that mean I'm allowed to love Walking Crow?”

Drumbeat closed his eyes. They have done his daughter a disservice. Leaning down, the man scooped up her trembling body and pressed a kiss to her crown. “Oh, little trout...you are free to love him.”

A hitch of the breath. Sansa then let out a whine and burrowed her face into his neck, the skin becoming wet from her tears. “Promise?”

Holding her as close as he could, Drumbeat nodded as he rocked her gently, “Promise.”

Chapter Text

Sansa pouted as Has The Eagle lectured her on proper care of her injury, the man tying the sling around her neck. After she woke up last afternoon, her...new parents kept her bed bound for the rest of the day's duration, except for when the older woman guided her to the private washing area for her to clean up. The next morning, Drumbeat ushered her to the Medicine Man's hut, where she now sat.

“-And if I see you doing anything with this arm, I will force you to bed rest in here in order to keep an eye on you myself.” He finished off with a pointed and stern look.

Sighing, exasperated, Sansa nodded, “I promise I won't use it until it's fully healed.” Not like she would've overexerted herself anyways, having always been one to follow the maester's orders back in Winterfell and – with reluctance – King's Landing.

He nodded once. “Good. Now, what is on your mind?”

Shooting him a bewildered look, the man only arched a brow, unimpressed. Did all the people in this tribe have that look perfected since they were children? Young Beaver was barely seven and he could send an arched brow of withering exasperation perfectly for his age.

Scrunching her nose, annoyed at being seen through, Sansa glanced away, fiddling with the fabric of her skirt. “A lot.” Was her begrudging answer. Has The Eagle sat and gazed at her, waiting patiently.

Knowing that there was no use keeping silent, Sansa divulged, “I'm not too hurt about the fight with Fox anymore, we had already talked. If anything, I'm more upset with Heavy Runner, but really...it's just that I got some...good news? I suppose.”

“And what is this good news?”

Still not meeting the man's eyes Sansa shrugged, uncomfortable. “You'll probably think I'm silly for it, but I didn't think I was able to have a husband or family with anyone in the tribe. I thought if I did, they would not belong here, have no place because I'm not blood related to anyone.”

“I see.” Has The Eagle hummed, contemplative. After a pause, he continued with soft reassurance. “That is not a silly notion to have, you are careful with your treatment of our ways and culture. You don't wish to presume and that is not wrong of you. But you also do not ask questions when you should if you are confused.”

Pursing her lips, a flicker of that old indignation from the insults she had received in the Red Keep, Sansa muttered, “I don't want to appear stupid. Sometimes I want to ask stupid questions, but I know I would be mocked for it.”

“From your time in your land, I'm guessing?” His tone was knowing, but not judgmental, and Sansa finally lifted her gaze back to his.

“A person of high birth, like me, have to be smart and polite and not ask silly questions. When I didn't understand something, I kept quiet and waited until I could figure it out. I'm a slow learner.”

“Everyone learns in their own time, there is no slow or fast, only what works for the individual. The fact that you observe is a good trait, but you will not be mocked here for your questions. Or, if anyone does mock you, then you have every right to tell them off. It is not your fault of not understanding our ways, because you were not born and brought up in the tribe. What is common knowledge for them, isn't for you. You should not be punished for what you did or don't know, Sansa.” His expression was open and gentle.

A little overwhelmed and choked up, Sansa ducked her head again as she nodded silently. One day, Sansa hoped, she would stop being so shocked by the sheer kindness from the tribe. Would stop bracing herself for insult or judgment.

Settling back where he sat, Has The Eagle mixed up some crushed herbs into a bowl, asking lightly, “And how is your warging coming along? Have you explored it any further since the winter?”

'Besides that short moment with the bear?' Sansa internally muttered, recalling the taste of blood in her mouth, even when she hadn't been the one to bite the bear. Sansa really hadn't explored what was actually a very useful ability, too busy with enjoy her life in the tribe. Wincing, Sansa shook her head, still fiddling with her skirt. “I haven't really thought on it much. In the North, wargs are not seen kindly in our legends or stories, so it's difficult to believe what I can do isn't bad.”

“It's not about the ability being good or bad, but what it is used for.” The man wisely advised her.

Mulling that over, Sansa replied slowly, “I think, I'll give it a try. Alone, as I don't want to frighten anyone.”

“A reasonable idea.” Has The Eagle agreed with faint approval. “Perhaps work with White Claw, as you've already made a connection there when you first found her.”

Nodding, Sansa spent a little more time in the hut with him, getting more advice on how to not injure her arm any further as well as a small pouch of herbs to drink when the pain gets too much. When she finally ducked back out into the crisp afternoon air, Sansa was met with White Claw, the wolf perking up at the sight of her.

Smiling as the wolf came over to her, Sansa was happy to shower some affection onto the animal, enjoying the soothing sensation of her thick fur. White Claw had recovered well enough from the bear attack, a faint limp still but on the mend.

On the topic of the bear, Fawn was to have a naming ceremony tomorrow evening, honoring her achievement and the older girl was brimming with excitement when she told Sansa. For a short moment, her friend looked uncertain, seeing as Sansa had been the one to actually kill the bear, but Sansa was adamant that Fawn should take the honor. After all, Sansa never would've been able to if Fawn hadn't been the brave one to charge the animal.

The bear meat was being prepared for tomorrow, with the pelt presented to Fawn then as well in a ceremonial gesture for her achievement. Sansa wondered on how easily she would be able to adapt to the new name for her friend, no longer to be called the name she had known her by. Hopefully she didn't mess up and insult the girl.

As Sansa contemplated all this, going for a stroll on the outskirts of the village – having gotten a bit antsy after staying inside for the last day – she was halted in her tracks by the call of her name. Voice familiar, Sansa grimaced before settling a cool expression over her face when he turned to face Heavy Runner.

At least he himself didn't look overly pleased or happy, and Sansa hoped he had a good lecturing on his actions. He had nearly torn apart her friendship with Fox, and that was unforgivable in her eyes.

The young man stopped in front of her, however with the way White Claw prowled to put herself between him and Sansa, he took a few steps back. After eyeing the wolf warily, Heavy Runner looked up at her. “You don't want to talk to me.” He stated the obvious.

And Sansa hated the way he said so with a hint of confusion. Glaring, Sansa curtly replied, “No. You hurt Fox. And I see it as very inappropriate now for as to continue to do so.”

“It's not inappropriate-”

“She was to be your wife!” She hissed back, “How you behaved was wrong!”

“But I didn't want her to be my wife- she isn't going to be my wife. I want you-”

“No.” Sansa couldn't help but snort with derision, “You don't want me.”

His eyes narrowed as he protested in return. “Yes, I do!”

She gave a dismissive wave to his words. “I am just passing fancy, I only hold your interest because I'm different from your normal life. That is not a good reason to throw away your future wife!”

“But you're not like the other girls.”

Head rearing back, Sansa couldn't help but demand, “What's wrong with the other girls? Other girls are wonderful and brave and brilliant, and have their own uniqueness, if you gave them even a second of thought!” In her mind, Sansa thought about all the girls she knew, how even after growing up in two different worlds, girls her age were the same. It brought her comfort to know that, and Sansa felt burning offense for Heavy Runner to insinuate that Sansa was better than them for some unfathomable reason.

“Wildcat spends more time with horses than people because she's convinced she can talk to them.” Sansa found herself saying with a glare. Heavy Runner looked confused at her words, even as she continued, “Listener hears music in every sound of the world around her and will sing to the wind, and Restless One is the best climber I've ever seen. Fawn took down a bear and Fox would make a far better chief than you could ever be. There are so many girls in this tribe and we all dream and hope and live with the same excitement for life, but are still so unique and individual, even with our similarities. Besides my looks, I'm just like them. I wish I even looked just like them sometimes!” Sansa exclaimed, taking Heavy Runner by surprise, his eyes widening.

Panting a little from her tirade, Sansa took a deep breath in, and hissed, “You don't know a single thing about me besides what you've assumed. And seeing as you don't know anything about the girls you've spent more time around compared to me, I guess I am very much like the other girls.”

There was a long drawn moment of silence. Heavy Runner had looked away from her, a mix of emotions running across his features as he seemed to war with her words. “So you won't even consider my feelings.” His tone was thick with disappointment, and a part of Sansa felt some sliver of sympathy for him. But Sansa knew that even if things hadn't gone all wrong, that even if he parted from Fox properly and tried to court Sansa without secrecy, she still wouldn't have accepted his feeling for her. Sansa's heart was for someone else. She told him exactly that.

“I won't ever love you.” Sansa firmly declared, chin tilting up. “My heart is to another and I would have him. If not him, then no one else.”

“Walking Crow.” Heavy Runner concluded softly, fists clenching at his side. He said it with knowing resignation.

Swallowing thickly, Sansa confirmed, “Walking Crow. He has been with me from the beginning.”

A flare of frustration in his features as he argued, still not backing down and ever the warrior, “That's not fair, to consider him over me because of the longer time he's had.”

“I don't care.” Sansa declared with finality, meeting his gaze head on. And perhaps it was cold of her to say, but she has had enough of men demanding from her, expecting things from her she did not want to give. She was tired of it, and was past caring at this point. “The world is unfair, and everyone must learn that. I've made my choice, and you will respect it.”

Here, White Claw let out a warning growl, punctuating her words. For a moment, it looked like Heavy Runner had more he wanted to say, but with one short glance at the wolf, he held his tongue. Instead, he took a breath as he nodded. “Very well.” The young man turned sharply and left, heading back into the village.

Sansa let out a harsh breath, the bravery leaving her with trembling knees and heart pounding furiously. Crouching down to bury her face into White Claw's fur, Sansa sought solace with her companion. “I hope I didn't make him angry.” She whispered, hands beginning to shake. Sansa trusted that there would be no retaliation from him, that was not how the people of the tribe were raised, but sometimes you never knew. And her time with the Lannisters made it hard to accept that when she was not alright with something, it would be respected.

Sat in the middle of grazing or sleeping sheep, Sansa hummed as she did her best to sew. Her injured shoulder made it difficult to do so, but she wanted to finish her new dress for when the winter comes. She had grown some more in height these past few months, and her previous dress was some what too snug on her body. Luckily, the work she had put into that dress would not go to waste, as Fox was shorter than her, and should fit into it well.

Tonight would be Fawn's ceremony, and Sansa was excited and curious to see what it entails. With her having apparently been part of the tribe for awhile now, Sansa wondered if she too would get a new name, and what it would be.

Would she have to do something similar as Fawn, to fight a great beast or preform an amazing feat? She had listened as Quick With Water had told her last winter time that new names also came from dreams or visions a person would have, seeking guidance with the Medicine Man and to see they held importance.

As she contemplated this, she noticed Fox approaching from the distance. Straightening up, Sansa smiled and waved at the older girl.

Fox smiled back as she sat down next to her, carefully leaning back against a relaxing sheep. When the animal didn't show it's discomfort, Fox reclined fully. From her pouch, she withdrew an apple, using her small knife to begin cutting pieces off to eat.

Sansa muttered a soft 'Thank you' when she was offered a piece. As she nibbled on it, Fox said around a mouthful, “My father is not happy.”

The red head looked down at her sewing, dread building in her stomach. “I'm sorry-”

Scoffing, Fox waved off her words. “You're not at fault. You didn't know and the second you did you pulled back. Heavy Runner was the one who was in the wrong. But father is more annoyed about losing a possible future chief.”

“Will that be a problem for the tribe?” Sansa had to inquire, concerned. With a careless shrug the other replied, “Not likely. He was one of a few. I think he's more annoyed that I've lost a potential husband. Especially one that would've made me happy.”

Chewing at the inside of her cheek, Sansa slowly said, “My father wanted to find me someone that would be good to me. At the time, I didn't want that, I wanted Joffrey.” Fox made a face at the name, making Sansa laugh in response. “I look back on that with no small amount of shame. But I do see why your father would want that for you. All good fathers do.”

Her mind trailed to Drumbeat, and warmth filled her heart.

“I think my father took my words all those years ago too seriously.” Fox muttered irritably. Sansa cocked her head to the side in silent questioning. To which her friend elaborated, “I was seven and I demanded to marry the bravest warrior in the tribe. And I preferred all the romantic tales they would tell during the winters. Now my father is convinced all I want in life is to marry.”

Sansa felt dizzy at how close that was to her own childhood, and could not fault her friend for it. It solidified her words to Heavy Runner. She was just like the other girls, no matter her differing looks or origin. “And is that true?” She pressed.

With another careless shrug, Fox cut off another piece of apple and replied, “As long as I can continue my riding explorations and be listened to when I give advice, I'm suppose it is. I do want a husband and a family. But I guess he doesn't need to be the bravest warrior in the tribe anymore.” Fox added with a soft laugh.

“Yes,” Sansa agreed, “Because that would be Walking Crow and then I would have to fight you for his hand.”

Her friend's laughter heightened, Sansa following a second after. They disturbed the sheep greatly, who all got up with varying degrees of irritable huffs, and wandered off. Fox toppled backward when her sheep got up with a startled squawk, leading to more uproarious noise, and Sansa found herself lying down beside her friend.

When they quieted down, breathing a tad bit laboured, Sansa turned to Fox and gave her a wild grin as she declared proudly, “I'm going to marry that man, one day.”

Fox grinned back. “Promise?”

“Promise.

The ceremony and feast was a long one, their friend being cloaked in her bear skin before the Chief as Has The Eagle bestowed her new name before the tribe.

“You kneel for the last time as Fawn, and stand, as Tall Standing Bear.” The Medicine Man intoned, gesturing for the young woman to rise.

When her newly named friend stood up, Sansa was smiling wide with pride, letting out cheers with the rest of them in the crackling fire light. As the music began, Tall Standing Bear ran over to them, exuberantly wrapping her arms around both Fox and Sansa, the three of them a tangled mess of limbs and joyful giggles.

“A strong name.” Running Crane approved with a fond smile and nod. Quick With Water was next in getting a hug from her niece, the woman pressing a firm kiss to Tall Standing Bear's forehead.

“I'm so proud of you, my child.” And they all politely did not point out the warble in the woman's voice, Sansa and Fox stepping back from the family. The slightly older girl trotted over to where her father was, and Sansa decided to look for her own new family.

Drumbeat was in the middle of talking with the other men of the tribe, including Arrowhead. They looked deep in conversation, and Sansa didn't want to bother them. Instead, she searched for Forest Water in the crowd.

The woman was currently making herself a plate of food, so Sansa bid another congratulations to Tall Standing Bear before wandering over to her. Unlike with Drumbeat, Sansa was struggling more with seeing the woman as a mother, having far more good memories with Catelyn Stark and it was hard to not feel like she was replacing her.

But Sansa decided to not feel guilty over it. Sansa wanted a mother again, and though at times hard to read, the red head knew that Forest Water was sincere in her affection and love for her. So when she sidled up to her adoptive mother, Sansa smiled brightly and stole a berry off her plate.

Forest Water sent her a faux glare, lips twitching. Sansa gave her a cheeky grin back as she popped it into her mouth before leaning her side against the woman's. Humming softly at the physical affection, Forest Water returned it by wrapping one arm around her, squeezing her in close.

“Waiting for the day you get your new name now, Sansa?” Forest Water wondered.

Looking over to where Tall Standing Bear was proudly showing off the black bear skin to anyone who showed interest, Sansa nodded slowly. “As long as it's allowed-”

Tsking, the woman interrupted, “You are part of the tribe, of course it is allowed.”

Bashful and suitably reprimanded, Sansa ducked her head before nodding. “Then yes, I am waiting.”

“Your time will come. Patience, my child.”

The encouraging words sent another blossoming of warmth in her chest. Glancing back up, she searched for Drumbeat once more, and saw the man was looking at the pair of them, a softness in his eyes.

Peace settled over her. The last few days were trying, and Sansa was still aghast that she had a terrifying run in with a bear not too long ago, but she felt peace here in that moment. Her life before could not touch her, too far and most likely believed dead by her enemies. Though she longed to see Winterfell at least once more, Sansa found a place here with the Red Buffalo tribe. And she wouldn't have it any other way now.

Chapter Text

Sansa held back the urge to fidget as the elders and the Chief began to settle around her. Has The Eagle was to her left, preparing a long wooden smoking pipe, one she had seen the elders use from time to time during feasts and ceremonies. But the dried plant that was going into it was for her to take.

She was to go on her spiritual journey, and walk through her mind. It had been gently encouraged, a month after Tall Standing Bear's ceremony. At nearly fourteen, it was deemed a good age for a name. If people did not go on actual journeys to discover themselves and grow, then inhaling a special herb would be another option. It had been decided that she would go on a mental one, as a physical journey had already taken place for her. Sansa could admit that she was nervous, especially as she would be passing out in front of a group of people. But the elders and Chief would have to witness this journey, and Has The Eagle would monitor her health in case there was an ill-affect to the herb.

As the pipe began to faintly smoke, Has The Eagle came to sit before her, offering it to her. “Remember, inhale through the mouth, and let it rest in the lungs before releasing a long and steady breath. Do not breathe in too quickly either.” The man advised.

Nodding silently, Sansa forced her hands to not shake as she took up the pipe and held one end to her lips. Closing her eyes, the girl did as instructed, and couldn't help the first cough, not expecting the slight suffocating sensation of thick smoke entering her lungs. But on the second pass, Sansa did better at holding it in longer, before breathing it out. And after one more inhale, she handed it back to the Medicine Man and waited for the effects to kick in.

It started slowly. A haziness in her view, vision of the elders and Chief blurring a little together. Then, the world seemed to circle around her, and darkness took over.

A forest.

Colours, vibrant and impossible.

There was no sound, the world swirling with only bright hues of reds and blues, yellows and greens.

There was no sound. But for a howl in the distance.

She moved towards it. Feet bare, the ground was improbably soft, covered in moss instead of tree debris.

The howl continued, the bright colours winding around her like wind made visible. It didn't not push nor pull her in one direction or the either. It only circled.

The howl became louder. The ground beneath her feet faded from softness to damp, wet grass. Snow began to freckle the floor, fading into pure white into the distance.

She stopped walking.

She stood on the edge of a forest, colours dissipating into whites and greys, and a plain of snow was before her. The trees were barren as the wintertime would demand of nature. In the distance, the lonely howling wolf gained a reply. Four more wolves rose up in the response.

A thickness built in her stomach, crawling up into her chest, and she opened her mouth-

Water splashed.

She turned to find the source of the sound.

A river.

It ran freely, unburdened. The colours were not as bright as the forest, but they were far more vibrant than the snow plains beyond the forest.

A bright red fish leapt from the water, diving in up stream, it's body blurred under the water as it raced on against the current.

Enraptured, she moved away from the snow, feet slowly meeting unstable pebbles of the river's shore. She followed the fish's path, watching it swim.

The red fish's scales were iridescent in the sunlight, reflecting off the water. She crouched by the water, knees sinking into the stones as her hand dipped into the water.

It was cold.

But not as cold as the snow.

The howls began to fade as the trout began to swim out of the water, and impossibly moving around her body. It swam in the air, and she found herself smiling at it.

Standing up, she moved onward, back into the forest and away from the snow and wolves. A part of her howled with them, an agonising cry at the distance.

But the trout was urging her somewhere important. Somewhere that felt safer. Somewhere that felt kinder.

The sound that she only heard now, was the running water of the large forest river. The trees and plant life continued with it's vibrancy, the trout swirling around her form, not leading her necessarily, but moving beside her. As she continued on, the lack of sound beyond her and trout disappeared, and was replaced with an abundance of life.

She caught a fox running under a bush, a fawn bouncing around a bear. A crane flew over head, long legs tucked in tight to it's body. She saw animals everywhere, all kinds of impossible. She began to hear sound again. She heard a drum, she heard whistling of something fast flying through the trees.

She heard a crow.

Glancing up, she watched the crow circle above her head before flying off into the trees.

She rushed to follow, the trout never losing pace beside her.

The edge of the forest appeared once more.

There was no snowy plains nor leafless trees this time. It was grassy hills and mountains in the distance. It was huts with smoke filtering out.

It did not fill her was a yearning that ached painfully, to see the life that was presented before. But it filled her with a desperation to keep forever, to never let go of.

She burst into motion, legs pushing off from the ground a she ran from the forest towards the village. A howling wolf echoed in her ears and heart, but the trout swam with, jumping like the air was it's river, returning home.

The cacophony of animals and drum beats and arrows flying and laughter burst around her, overwhelming but nonthreatening. The village was so close.

She reached her hand out towards it, try to grasp-

Sansa opened her eyes, a breath sharply inhaled before it got caught, coughing hard. A thick musty taste lingered in the back of her throat, mouth dry. The lip of a waterskein was pressed to her mouth, and Sansa sat up with ungainly limbs to drink from it. A drum's beat continued to pound in time with her heart, the scent of a forest still thick within her nose, even after leaving the vision.

Washing away the foul taste in her mouth, soothing her raw throat, Sansa blinked in the dim light to see she was in the hut still, with the elders and chief before her. Has The Eagle was beside her, holding the waterskein for her. His two-coloured eyes flitted over her form, making sure she was physically well.

Swallowing one last mouthful, Sansa moved to kneel before them, legs heavy and mind still dazed from what she saw.

“Speak.” Chief Black Deer softly commanded.

Rubbing at her head, noticing a gentle ache behind her eyes, Sansa quietly replied, “A forest. I-I had a choice to make.”

“And the choice that was made?”

Pursing her lips, Sansa tried to make sense of her vision and the journey she went on. It wasn't that hard to conclude what had gone on in it, but to voice it, felt like one last betrayal to her blood family. However, that guilty part of her that still lingered in spite of all the healing she had managed whispered, 'What's one more betrayal?'

Her family must think her dead anyways, so what did it matter? There was no home to return to, though the number of howls that replied to the lone wolf had something niggling at the back of her mind. It was impossible, there was no way for her to know. Jon, she knew was alive, and Arya was a mystery. But Bran and Rickon were dead. Theon killed them.

“I had to make a choice. Between my first home, and my new one. I think, my brothers are alive, but I can't be certain.”

“What choice did you make?” Running Crane, as she was one of the elders and present, asked after a moment's pause of contemplation on Sansa's words.

Glancing up at the woman's familiar and kind gaze, Sansa revealed, “I chose the tribe.”

Sansa could not mistake the flash of relief in the woman's dark eyes, and warmth filled her chest. She had to have made the right choice then, if Running Crane felt that way.

It gave her courage to go on and describe the animals that pulled her in two directions. Of the wolves and trout, already cluing in on the representation of her father and mother's blood within her. But it was confusing as well. Mother was also of Westeros, so why was the trout the guide to her choice of the tribe?

Sansa did not voice this question, instead wishing to mull it over later in private. However, as she came to an end of her explanation, the Chief nodded, as if concluding something to himself.

“Tonight, before the tribe, you new name will be bestowed upon you.”

Elation welled up like a blazing fire inside her, and Sansa smiled brightly. “I am honored to be given one, Chief Black Deer.”

The man smiled lightly back, gesturing to the entrance of the hut, “Go. It has been awhile since you entered, I'm sure your family is anxious to have you back.”

Nodding, still on a high of excitement, Sansa bowed her head and staggered a little out of the hut. Has The Eagle had followed after her, a guiding hand on her elbow, to which she gave him a grateful look for.

It was early morning when she entered, now late afternoon. The people milled about in the preparations for winter, frost beginning to appear on the ground now. However, what really caught her eye was Forest Water and Drumbeat, sat on the ground outside the hut. With the blanket they were sharing, along with the belt the woman was weaving, and the man carving, they had been sitting here for awhile.

Tears filled Sansa's eyes, and she did nothing to hold them back as she approached her second parents. They had looked up at her exit, Forest Water standing more calmly compared to Drumbeat's rushed movements, though the woman looked just as concerned as her husband.

The man pulled her into a quick embrace, before cupping her face, as if he was searching for any signs of injuries. Forest Water brushed her hands in a slow but somewhat fretful manner over her shoulders and arms, a quiet tell of her being equally worried.

“Are you well? How did it go?” Her new father asked in a rush.

Still trying to come back from the mental journey she went on, Sansa was caught off guard by the quick questions, but answered them a few moments later. “Well, I feel fine, and it was...insightful. I'm actually quite hungry though.” The young woman added, frowning as her stomach growled.

Forest Water laughed lightly, pressing a reassuring hand onto her husband's shoulder. “Come, let us eat and relax.”

“Her name will be revealed tonight.” Has The Eagle then spoke up, having stood to the side patiently as they family talked.

Drumbeat pulled his gaze from Sansa like it was a hardship to nod, acknowledging the other man's statement. “We will have her ready for then.”

With his mask once more affixed to his face, Sansa could not make out Has The Eagle's expression, but decided it was a relaxed and casual one, going by his loose posture. The man then nodded his head to Sansa, “Until tonight, Sansa.”

Giving a short bow of her head, Sansa earnestly replied, “Thank you, for helping me on my journey.”

“You are of the tribe, and I take care of our people.” Was his response before walking away. Sansa decided the man knew exactly how those words affected her, Has The Eagle to knowing to not to. Sniffling, Sansa looked back to her second parents, and smiled.

“Can we eat now? Please.”

Chuckling, Drumbeat nodded, wrapped an arm around her shoulders to press her into his side. “Come, let us get you filled. I will not have our daughter starving before she gets her name.”

There were many signs to show one's maturing within the tribe. Sometimes, it was obvious, such as the markings on the face, or the physical journey the men took away from the village. Men had paint on their body, like Walking Crow and the white hand print. Others, it was a subtle change, such as hair styles, not always noticed at first but a difference nonetheless.

When Sansa first joined, it was Tall Standing Bear who had suggested she braided her hair in a similar style to the many girls and some women of the tribe. Two simple braids was traditional for the children, with the style adjusting as the grew up.

It wasn't always the case, as Sansa had seen some elders with their hair split into the two braids, so she wasn't entirely sure if it was a mark of growing up. But she had seen the other girls of the tribe, who went from two to one braid. Some even letting their hair down entirely. Fox and Tall Standing Bear now also wore their hair in a single braid, and Sansa had begun to do the same. She wanted to be seen as a little older than the lost child the tribe had welcomed into their care.

Then there was the headband that many of the children wore, which Sansa had slowly stopped doing herself over the last few months. But she did not want to entirely forsake it, having loved the first gift her sister in all but blood had given her. Instead, with some adjustment, she made it into a necklace of sorts, sitting snug against her neck.

Sansa felt it made her look very mature. Especially as she swapped her hair for a singular braid, a thick rope of red down her back. The first feathers she had collected over her journey to the tribe a year ago were laced within the strands, wanting to keep them as close to her as she could.

Forest Water had done the braiding for her as they prepared for the evening. Sansa sat patiently, a hand running through White Claw's fur.

Drumbeat was still carving into the project he had been working on earlier, though he had not revealed it to her yet.

As they all sat in content silence, Sansa's thoughts were taken by the meaning of the trout in her vision. She still wasn't too sure and hoped that tonight it would be revealed, however it made her mind drift to her mother once more, and too her childhood with older eyes looking back on it all.

“I think my mother was not happy.” Sansa voiced quietly. It had somewhat lingered in her mind, along with many other thoughts of her mother and father. They were like phantoms that haunted her choices and actions. Sometimes, what she would do was in order to remember and honor them, but others were like Sansa was turning her back on their memories. She would play rough with her friends, would hike up her skirts to drag in nets of fish, things that would make her mother disapprove. Sansa never knew what would make her father disapprove, however. They were never close enough. But he would perhaps not be happy with her, to forsake her home completely. Winterfell was gone, and Sansa felt she was being rational to give up on ever returning. But would her father see it that way?

And all of this would circulate back to her mother, someone she still loved so dearly, even as she could no longer view her childhood as perfect and wonderful. There were flaws in the cracks, and with more awareness of the world, Sansa could see through them clearly.

Her family was not perfect. And it started and ended with her parents.

Drumbeat paused in his carving at her statement, Forest Water giving a soft hum to gently encourage her to continue her thought process.

Frowning as she looked down at her legs, Sansa elaborated. “My half-brother, Jon, was my father's son, but not hers. My father met Jon's mother when he was fighting in a war, but he had already married my mother. From what I was told, mother was pregnant with my brother Robb when father returned with the newborn Jon. It was an insult to my mother to have Jon, the biggest reminder of father's unfaithfulness, play and learn alongside her children.”

The young woman took a breath, still trying to gather her thoughts. “I think, it wasn't fair for my mother to be harsh to Jon. He was a child and it was not is fault. It was my father's. But in my land, the men are never punished for their choice to create a bastard. And it was so present within history that bastard born children would try and take their sibling's inheritance.” Here, Sansa had to pause, to quickly explain, “The birth right to land and property and rank.” Drumbeat nodded and Forest Water let out another hum of understanding. With that cleared up, Sansa continued on, “Jon was a threat in my mother's eyes, alongside being a reminder of father's unfaithfulness. And the more I get older, the more I think I understand her feelings, despite wishing I wasn't so cruel to Jon when I was a child. I think I would have been miserable and full of doubt, if my husband had done that to me.”

Forest Water's arms gently wrapped around Sansa's shoulders, pulling the red head back and into her chest. “Why does your mind go to this?”

Turning her head to the side to rest it against the woman's shoulder, Sansa sighed heavily. “I saw a trout. A trout appeared to me as I had to choose between the tribe and Winterfell. Winterfell and The North are my home, but so is the tribe now. And I just felt it strange, that the symbol of my mother's house, was what turned me away from my blood family. Blood family was – is – important to people from my land. Mother put such a heavy importance on blood, her house's words being Family, Duty, Honor, in that order.”

Sansa could feel herself becoming frustrated with the lack of answers and understanding. Which was when Forest Water softly counseled, “Sometimes, the visions don't always mean what you think they do. Sometimes they are obvious, but other times they can be confusing. Though I would never tell you what to think, I would encourage you to not overthink it either. It can lead to more confusion and disrupt the journey you are on in your life.”

“I wonder if she would've been upset, if she knew my choice.” Sansa couldn't help but whisper. Though she could not recall her mother's face, she could imagine the disappointment and lectures.

Drumbeat came over, settling down in front of Sansa, the young woman looking up at him hopefully for guidance. “To look to the dead for answers, will only provide you more questions. It may be harsh for me to say, but your mother can not tell you how she would feel. You only have your memories to rely on, but the dead should not dictate your choices. The best person to rely on, is yourself. Are you happy with your choice?”

For a long while, it was silent. Sansa continued to relax in Forest Water's arms as Drumbeat went back to his work, both letting her contemplate in peace.

She missed her family from when she was younger. Though ignorant to the world at that time in her life, Sansa was happy. She was loved and she was cared for. Here, with the tribe, she was loved and cared for as well. By people who had no logical reason for doing so. They did not know her, when they found her by the ocean. A stranger that they had no responsibility for, but they took her in nonetheless. They opened their home to her, giving her purpose, giving her time to heal, and giving her safety.

Sansa had learnt that blood was not everything, that love can come from those who share no physical traits or connection with you. Forest Water and Drumbeat were parents to her. It made shame fill her, to privately admit that they were sometimes better than her own parents. Her mother was some she loved the most, and she loved Sansa dearly. Sansa had wanted to be just like her mother long ago.

But looking back at their relationship, compared to the one with Forest Water, her second mother did not hold back. Not in affection, nor in verbal encouragement. Forest Water gave her honest advice, and told her truths as plainly as they were. Catelyn Stark had omitted information, Sansa being deemed too young and naive. But that now felt like a betrayal of a different kind. If her parents had been honest about the world, perhaps their family wouldn't have been torn apart and killed.

When it came to praise, she could recall that it was either praise always mixed with words of improvement and pointed out flaws, or empty, distracted praise, her parents focused on other things when Sansa was trying to show them something she had been proud of. Forest Water, even before Sansa had accepted their wish to adopt her into their family, had been open with her praise, though never profuse or over the top. It was words that boosted her confidence, offering guidance in a way that never felt like she hadn't been good enough. Sansa did not have to struggle to reach an unobtainable standard, invisible and placed out of reach. She was just Sansa, loved no matter her flaws or mistakes.

There was also no decorum or manners to stand on besides respect given to all. Children were seen and not heard generally in Westeros, though every family did things differently, and the Starks loved their children, you could not deny that. But the expectations placed upon her and her siblings, Robb and Sansa feeling it the most as the first son and daughter between her parents, were heavy.

A lady at three, Sansa had been declared. And she used to be proud of that accomplishment. However, now, looking back on it and comparing her childhood to the children of the tribe, she felt her youth had lacked the true happiness as child should grow up to have. There were lessons, and rules, and appearances to keep up with. As a highborn family, it made sense on why. But her childhood now felt...lackluster and miserable, compared to how the children were raised here. They were far more physically affectionate here.

Sansa couldn't recall a moment when her mother or father would pass her by in the keep and suddenly scoop her up into a hug. Drumbeat, once Sansa voiced her acceptance and desire for him to be her father, had been almost too much in his physical affection. A one arm hug or a full on embrace if she was going from one task to another. Forehead kisses passed between bowls of food and not two days ago, Forest Water and Sansa had walked hand in hand along the lake shore having a conversation. When had she sat down and had a casual talk about anything and everything with her parents. Sansa could remember doing so with her siblings and dearest Jeyne, but never with mother and father. They loved her and her siblings, but distantly. Always at arms length it felt like.

Yes, there were still rules and chores here with the tribe, but the expectations did not feel so impossible. And the expectations her parents here had for her were to just be happy. To feel safe. It felt far more attainable. Life was peaceful and allowed for children to just grow up loved and cared for.

The guilt would always be present, Sansa believed deep down, but maybe it would fade to a dull ache in time. Like a needle prick to the fingers, there but ignored easily.

“I am.” Sansa decided on, voice quiet but firm. “I am happy here, and I'm happy with my choice.”

Drumbeat, her father, smiled a smile that showed very plainly just how overjoyed he was to hear that. When had Ned Stark given her a smile without distance?

Reaching out, her father took Sansa's right hand, and she felt something wooden roll over her hand to rest on her wrist. When he opened his large hands, father revealed a carved wooden bracelet. Smooth beads thread through sturdy twine. Bringing the item closer for inspection, she gasped in astonishment at the little trouts and wolves and flowers inscribed on the beads. Such detail!

“You should never forget where you came from, my daughter.” The man encouraged, “It has shaped who you are, but it should not shackle you either. Life is about change, and one must always adapt in order to live and survive. You are a Stark and a Tully. A wolf and a trout. But you are my daughter, and you are part of the Red Buffalo tribe. Your life, your path, is of your own making. And we hope to walk it with you for as long as we are able to.”

Her mind flickered to the doll, all those years ago, before it faded from her thoughts. Forcing her gaze from the beautifully simple gift, Sansa felt tears burning her eyes as she sat up from her mother's arms and threw her own around her father's neck. “Thank you, father!” She warbled, crying freely now.

Joining in, mother was brought in with equal affection. “We love you so much, Sansa.” The woman murmured, a quiet but never distant mother.

How lucky Sansa was, to have them.

Mother had made her a dress. It was deer skin, with the skirt hem having long fringe and beaded work of trouts. The top half was the most detail thread and bead work Sansa had ever seen. A corn flower blue, the thread filled the entirety of the top part of her dress, along with diamond shaped border. It spanned all the way down the large sleeves, ending with more fringe work and beading. There was a weight to it, as she put it on over a thinner layer of fabric Sansa wore for warmth. But she felt beautiful, wearing it.

Over her shoulders, to keep the chill away, was a shawl Fox, Tall Standing Bear, and Sansa had worked on together, wanting to make something the three could wear interchangeably depending on the ceremony and circumstance. It was Sansa's turn to wear it, a woven fabric of autumnal colours, zig-zag lines and geometric shapes, stone beads that had been gathered and carved painstakingly threaded and sewn into the edges. The pride the three young women held when it was completed and praised by their family sat in Sansa's chest, even months later, wearing it now.

With moccasins boots on, Forest Water and Drumbeat held the hut flap open for her to exit as night fell. The bonfire was burning and the scent of food filled the air. Music played and Sansa could hear the talk and laughter of the tribe, waiting for the ceremony to begin.

Naming ceremonies were very important, something to celebrate. It was the next part of a person's journey, and one should be encouraged to continue on that path by the tribe. Like with Tall Standing Bear's naming ceremony, Sansa's was just as joyous and celebrated.

When she knelt down as Sansa before the Chief and the Medicine Man, Sansa listened as Has The Eagle spoke, “You were bestowed Sansa by your blood, and the name you will continue to carry, as a child of two worlds. However, in this world, in this tribe, you will rise as Red Trout. May you continue to swim strong against the current towards your destination.”

The name rang in her head, and it clicked into place. She was Sansa Stark, her heart would forever yearn for Winterfell. But she was Red Trout too, who swam towards the tribe, and the home she had found against all odds. She was allowed to be both.

But now, she felt far more like Red Trout, as she rose before to her feet again.

The men stepped back as her parents crowded around her, Tall Standing Bear and Fox hurrying in as well. Arrowhead grinned as he threw an arm around her shoulders, giving her an affectionate shake. Well wishes and kind words were given in abundance as Red Trout smiled bright and proudly. A door closed gently on the past part of her life, not locked, but still shut with finality. She had elsewhere to go, and Red Trout would never do it alone again.

Chapter Text

The journey made was a quiet one. Alone, it allowed one to contemplate the life and nature around them. Walking Crow did not mind the solitude, generally preferring it, though he did miss the companionship of his friends and brother. But, he let his subconscious guide his horse, seeing where his heart wished for him to go, and ready to take what ever may come.

It let him think about his people, how Arrowhead was getting on without a younger brother to tease and train with. He wondered if Forest Water and Drumbeat had managed to finally finagle an official adoption of Sansa. He thought about Fawn and Fox, of them dragging Sansa into mischief and prayed to the Spirits that they were not getting into too much trouble and were staying safe.

He wondered on his other friends, Blackhand and his training under Standing Tree. The young man had been on his own journey three years ago, and last Walking Crow heard, was still grumbling over the rough edges of his teacher. Then there was Soft Touch, a young man only half a year his senior, who enjoyed working with the sheep, and was currently in the process of courting Wildcat. A strange combination, with Soft Touch being quiet compared to Wildcat's exuberant nature. But it appeared hopeful. Walking Crow wondered if they had finalised the courtship and would marry soon. Hopefully, not before he returned, wanting to be their for his friend on that important day.

The weeks passed with much silent contemplation, letting the world take him to wherever it wanted him to go. So, it was no surprise, that he had found himself traveling to the coast, taking a different path but one that still led him to the ocean shore. The water crashed against the sand and rocks. He had been traveling for less than a moon, and had decided that the out crop of trees where he had first met Sansa would be a good place to rest for some time. Being earlier in the season, there were more leaves on the trees, dragonflies and birds flying about the small fresh water stream.

His horse calmly drank from said water as Walking Crow approached the beach. Any signs of the struggle between him and Sansa were washed away, leaving smooth sand. However, he could picture it now, the screams and begging the girl released, a surprise for how quiet she had been the night before. Walking Crow, thinking back to it, grimaced. The pain in her tone was enough for him then to know that she had suffered something greatly. With what he now knew, it made the memory worse.

What would he have said then, if he could've understood her?

Nothing came to mind, which was perhaps for the best. Lingering on the past offered insight, but should not be a focus. One could be locked into a whirlpool of 'if's and 'could have's. Walking Crow had no desire to spiral into that thought process.

Instead, he sat down on the sand, and watched the endless water, listening to the crashing waves.

Each journey a boy from the tribe would take was always unique and individual, beyond just proving their ability to survive for a year alone. But the end would always be the same if they made it back: They would be seen as men in the eyes of their tribe.

Walking Crow would never say he was directionless or without goals, but he could admit that his life was one of a meandering path forward, letting life carry him as if he was a leaf in the breeze. And he never hated it. Life should be taken in one day at a time, appreciated and observed as if every day brought something one had never seen before, even when surrounded by nothing bu the familiar.

However, as he got older, Walking Crow wondered if that was wrong. Wondered if he should have some future plan for himself. There was a part of him that hoped that his future would be intertwined with Sansa, but that solely up to her, Walking Crow humble enough to step back if his interest was unwanted. She was a good friend either way, and all he wanted for her was a good life, as he wanted for all the people he loved in his life.

War and conflict was not sought after by rational men, and Chief Black Deer was a rational man. There would be no war started by their tribe, but on could never say about the other three. The tribes lived peacefully, trading and existing with only minor disputes from time to time. But, Walking Crow wondered at times what war would be like. Would he do well? How would he handle taking lives? Who would he lose? Because war never came without loss.

But he was a warrior. What did a warrior do, without any fighting? Walking Crow would need to find his own path or goal, something to inform the Elders of when he returned. However, he hoped to find some answers and perhaps a direction for his life on this journey.

Movement caught his eye, dragging himself from his pensive thoughts. Walking Crow observed as a hermit crab scuttled along the sand, pausing in front of an empty shell. After inspecting it, the crab crawled out of it's old shell and took root into the new one, before moving on once more.

After watching it move along, Walking Crow fixed his eyes on the old shell, and picked it up. There was a small hole in it, but it was beautiful. An iridescent pink and grey, and he thought of Sansa. She would like this, he decided, stowing it into one of his pouches after brushing sand off of it. The girl loved pretty things, having mentioned it once or twice, and even though she was conscious to fit in with the tribe, Walking Crow would notice the small add-ons to her appearance, fond by her dedication.

Standing up, Walking Crow decided to meander the beach, over turning stones and shells, seeing if he could find anything to bring back to his family and friends. Sansa's request lingered the most in his mind as he did so, though, making him smile to himself. He could see right through her, when she gave that demand. Sansa had wanted to distract herself from his departure, and Walking Crow was willing to do, if it helped her not be too upset.

It set something warm alight in his chest, the idea that Sansa was missing him.

As the sun began to dip down over the horizon, the sea becoming a burning orange, Walking Crow made his way back to the once camp ground, starting a fire for the night. When he wrapped the blanket Sansa had gave him, Walking Crow wondered a bit more to himself, about the possibility of them being together. He would never dare to presume her deepest wants and desires in life, but he hoped that she at least liked her life with the tribe, and wouldn't be adverse to sharing a life with him. However, self-doubt was a terrible thing, and though Walking Crow did not find himself a victim to it, sometimes it liked to creep in.

Walking Crow wondered on how much better her life might be, back on her homeland across the sea. Sure, she had told him in greater detail over time, about the severity of destruction that had occurred to her family and home, as well as the enemies that would happily use her body to suit their purposes. He couldn't say he fully understood what she explained from time to time, mainly because it was so absurd and distasteful that such people could exist. The Tribe was all about community, taking care of one another. To violate someone's free will to such an extent was horrific, let alone thinking about how it would apply to Sansa, someone he dearly cared for.

But something still nagged at him. The what if. What if she was safe in her home, wouldn't there be someone better than himself, that could give her everything she ever wanted in life? Sansa had told him about Winterfell, her large stone home that towered almost as tall as the Blue Mountains, as wide and vast as the land the village inhabited. Though Walking Crow struggled to imagine such a place could exist, it made him feel...small. It made him look around the tribe and wonder how she could ever be happy in their huts, having to wash outside and work all the time. She was someone of such rank, to the point even he had trouble understanding the hierarchy of her people. But Walking Crow knew her to be very important.

How could a boy-becoming-a-man such as himself ever compare? What gifts could he offer beyond scrounged up stones and shells? Was what he could give, enough for her?

Gazing down at the shell in his hand, it suddenly felt not enough. And though tempted to throw it away, something held him back.

Sansa was good. She was kind, never needlessly cruel. She had more depth then she herself could see. At times, Walking Crow had heard the derisive words she used to describe herself: Stupid, weak, pathetic. Sometimes, she would play it off casually, with a wry smile like it was an inside joke. He hated it. He hated the people that had led her to believe herself lacking in worth.

The girl had learnt their language quickly, had assimilated herself into the tribe with such humility and respect, that he had heard many of the others murmur their approval. Especially when the ones that taught her to work the fishing nets, how they spoke of her soft hands but how that did not stop her from working just as hard as any child who was born into the tribe. She was one of them in all the ways that mattered, and Walking Crow wished Sansa could just see that.

She was intelligent. She was not weak, and her mental fortitude in facing her grief was staggering, Walking Crow was in awe of it. Sansa cried, she broke down, but she always built herself back up. And there was never anything pathetic about her. Walking Crow admired her, and was looking forward to seeing how she would grow more into herself as she got older.

Sighing, Walking Crow rubbed at his face and decided that that was enough contemplation for the night. Sleep was needed, and he had more of a journey to travel. Winter was close, and he would need to find someone temporary to set up a long-term camp. Winter was not a good time to travel, especially alone.

Wrapping the blanket around him tightly, leaning against the body of his horse, Soft Grass, Walking Crow closed his eyes and let himself fall into a slumber.

Chapter Text

Winter had come quick, shortening days filled with preparations and stocking up for the long nights ahead. Red Trout had fully moved up in terms of taking care of the sheep herd, now taught to shear the animals, their last fleeces collected just as the warm season had been turning chillier. They did not want to leave the poor creatures without anything to keep them warm during the winter.

Beyond shearing, Red Trout had become decently proficient in making traps for the fish in the lake. It had also been a good opportunity to try warging into animals around her, the fish in the water or the birds soaring above. She had already managed to succeed with White Claw awhile ago. It was disorientating at first, the transition from human to animal, but White Claw's mind had become as familiar as her own, the instincts of the wolf making it sometimes easier to just be when days were hard and emotions at a low point.

When it came to the tribe sequestering themselves into their homes as the snow began to fall thickly , Red Trout took to practising her warging as she laid down next to her wolf, watching herself through White Claw's eyes. It was disconcerting, the way her eyes went white, and she knew her parents were concerned the first few times they had seen it, but after Red Trout reassured them each time, they eased up.

It was a good way to pass the time, along with all the mending, weaving, spinning, and knitting the mother and daughter were working on, Drumbeat forever carving animals, tools, or strange shapes. They had plenty of wood shavings for keeping the fire going. If the weather was agreeable, Red Trout would bundle up and take a walk with White Claw, the cold never having bothered her much due to her first home's climate. And because of that, she was able to visit the rest of her family scattered about the village. She passed other members of the tribe as well, those willing to brave the cold.

And unlike last winter, Red Trout had taken to preparing and delivering warm drinks and food for those on their shift for guarding the village. It was highly unlikely they would be attacked, as no one sensible enough would during the bitter and unforgiving season, but it was still an important job, as some animals may get desperate enough to try hunting humans if their own game was sparse. And Red Trout wanted to ease their tasks as best as she could.

The guards were always grateful, and Red Trout would sit with them for a time, discussing the weather, about the tribe's current food stores, and sometimes just tales shared between them about life in general. It was nice, and though she couldn't call them the closest of friends, Red Trout was beginning to create more bonds within the tribe. And it eased the loneliness and grief with every kind smile and comradery exchange.

When she ducked in to visit Tall Standing Bear and her family, or Fox, she was welcomed with open arms and hot food. Some nights she stayed with her friends, falling asleep to the oral traditions passed from mouth to mouth around her. Other nights she curled up with Arrowhead as they listened to her father regale them stories of his youth, or when mother would enchant them with the legends of the Great Spirits and the cunning heroes in their tribe’s history.

It was a good winter, though an elder had passed, Spear Shaft. When spring arrived, it was with a mournful tone, as they buried the elder into the thawing ground, the body having been delivered to Has The Eagle who preserved the body for the rest of the winter. Red Trout had stood between her mother and father, clutching their hands as the funeral rites were spoken and memories of Spear Shaft were exchanged. Red Trout, who had only known the elder in passing, had only a few words to say about them, but they were acceptable enough for the ceremony.

The death within the tribe was a sharp reminder of the reality of the world she lived in, and she knew she must spend as much time appreciating and savouring every moment with her family and friends. A solidified resolve had settled over her as spring began to soften the chill and beat back winter. Red Trout went back to her task with the sheep, and soon found herself fully joining the weavers of the tribe when she was not busy with the animals or working on nets – a task still constantly set before her by Smooth Rock, who was her constant teacher in all things fish related. It was laborious work, but her arms had strengthened enough that they no longer were aching something fierce every time she went to bed.

As the snow melted around them, Arrowhead continued their archery lessons, the difficulty ever growing. He had truly moved her onto moving targets now, using a swinging sack of grass from a tree to practise on. Red Trout was certainly improving, but the pace was still a slow one. However, Arrowhead always stayed patient, and was quick with praise anytime she hit her mark. And with every achievement came the steadily approaching fulfilment of the promise of shooting from horseback. Red Trout was dreading the day.

Along with the swift arrival of spring, came her fourteenth name day. The absence of Walking Crow was felt heavily when his own name day had passed a moon before it. Red Trout missed him. She missed him so dearly . His blankets had long since stopped holding his scent, but she used them every night, imagining they were his arms holding her close.

When the time came for the hunting party to venture out, Red Trout turned down the option of going, even though both Fox and Tall Standing Bear decided to go. She wanted to continue to cultivate the steady life she was building now, but promised to go again next year. However, she travelled with them partially, along with her father and Arrowhead, wanting to trade for another journal and more ink, having run out some moons ago and wanted to resupply at the trading post. Her journal was filled with all her thoughts, her memories, old pieces of art Walking Crow had added from time to time before his journey. She liked to gaze at them, running fingers over the dried ink. But she had no more pages left to fill, and was desperate to continue her writing.

The three of them split off from the hunting party after a few days of travelling, Red Trout giving her farewells to her friends, wishing them a fun adventure. The parting did not hurt as much as Walking Crow's, perhaps because she would see them in a few months rather than his year-long absence. And they would not be alone, so she trusted they would be safe and sound until they returned home.

Their trip to the trading post had Red Trout brimming with excitement. She had expertly knitted gloves, socks, and sweaters for Jaxton, hoping that the personal wares would garner a good trade off. Maybe she could have two journals and a couple more pots of ink!

At their arrival, there were a few small tipis set up in the land around the trading post, easing some of Red Trout's concerns after the last time she was here. The confrontation with the men from the other tribe still had her uncertain with interacting with others outside of Red Buffalo, but she knew the language near fluent now, and was not afraid to speak her mind if someone said something rude to her. Especially with Arrowhead and Drumbeat beside her.

Jaxton had greeted her with a wide grin and in her first tongue, “Lady Sansa! Welcome back. I was beginning to wonder what had happened to you.”

Smiling wide, Red Trout replied, “I'm doing very well, thank you. I've been given a new name.” With a pleasantly surprised expression, he urged to say. “It's Red Trout, now.”

“A beautiful name.” He complimented, before clapping his hands together. “Now then! What do you have to trade for me?” Just as Red Trout had hoped, Jaxton was genuinely touched by what she had made for him, and did in fact offer her to choose two journals from his stock. A bright yellow and a deep red stuck out to her, and picked those. After collecting some more jars of ink and a few sticks of graphite, thinking of Walking Crow and his artwork, Red Trout took some time to converse longer with Jaxton , enjoying speaking in her first language once again. She had taught Running Crane over the few years she's had with the tribe, along with Walking Crow and her friends, but it was nice to not have to correct pronunciations and just talk.

Upon their return to the tribe, it was with a few gifts Arrowhead and her father had bartered for, presented to Forest Water. Two different pairs of beaded earrings that came from the Tall Elk tribe, as well as new pots from Wild Bear, who had access to a specific clay in their part of the mountains. With the delicate carvings of prancing deer on the sides of the pots, her mother was ever so pleased with the gifts.

The earrings had given Red Trout an idea, watching as her mother put them on. Having seen members of the tribe having their ears pierced, she began to consider having the same done to her own. She liked the pretty beaded jewellery that dangled from them, and wanted some for herself, that love for beautiful things never dying. Turns out, Standing Tree not only did the tribe's inking, but she would pierce parts of the body for the tribe as well. Skillfully using porcupine quills to make the base of the earring to hold the beads and or seashells, the woman could make a slightly painful process into a beautiful piece of art.

With ears aching a little, tiny bone carved beads now holding a place where they dangled her ear lobes, Red Trout was mighty pleased with herself as she presented them to her family two nights after having arrived back from the trading post. Mother praised her, and offered to show her how to make her own earrings. Father said she looked beautiful, and Arrowhead teased her, stating how Walking Crow would like them. Red Trout flushed under their words, bashful and feeling so loved by her second family.

The return of the hunting party came with exuberant cheers between Red Trout, and her two friends, the three of them colliding into a tangle of limbs and hugs, much to the amusement of the observers around them. Tall Standing Bear babbled excitedly about the stag she helped fell, with Fox gushing about the lands beyond the mountains, especially the sea she managed to catch sight of. She ooh’ed and ahh’ed over the shells her friends had collected, listening as they talked about their ideas of adding them to the shared shawl. 

Red Trout then showed off her earrings as well as some of the more recent woven pieces she had made under her mother's expert tutelage. They were mighty impressed, and Tall Standing Bear declared that she too would be getting her ears pierced, which meant that Fox didn’t want to be left behind. Standing Tree had banished them from her hut when Tall Standing Bear had burst in demanding earrings, her sharp tongue inflicting phantom cuts. Red Trout had laughed at the pair, and suggested they come back in a few weeks when the older woman’s irritation had cooled.

At the feast that night, the three danced to the drums, ate their fill, and fell asleep curled around one another under the stars, exhausted but pleased. It marked the final weeks counting down to Walking Crow's return. With his own name day being a moon before her own, it would make him seventeen upon his return. Red Trout's stomach fluttered at the idea of him having grown into a man, imagining if he got taller, or if his arms had thickened. Then again, he might have had a lean winter, and lost weight. That made her worry and spent the following days demanding from Arrowhead to tell her all of Walking Crow's favourite foods and getting mother to teach her how to make them. The thought of him starving nearly pushed her to tears of worry, leading to her father having to comfort her, his tone fondly amused.

“It's nothing to laugh about!” Red Trout argued, cheeks hot and eyes watering.

“Of course it's not,” He agreed soothingly, rubbing circles on her back, “But Walking Crow is an excellent hunter, and to think he would starve is to doubt his abilities.”

Pursing her lips, Red Trout muttered, “Even good hunters can struggle to find game.” Sighing, Drumbeat tugged her into his side, pressing a kiss to her hair, “He is well, little trout. Have faith in him.”

Sniffling, the young woman nodded, burying her face into his chest. “I just really love him, father.” And felt the vibrations of his chuckling more than heard the sound, “I know, little trout. And he is very lucky to have your love.”

The harvest ceremony was later than last year, the final crops being cut down around the time that Walking Crow came back into her life.

It was early morning, Red Trout having taken to morning walks since the snow began to melt, finding the tranquil silence soothing, as well as a good start to her days. White Claw accompanying her, Red Trout hadn't even bothered to braid her hair yet that morning, dressing quietly as she slipped out of the hut, her parents slumbering in their shared cot.

Tail lightly wagging, White Claw led them through the village, walking past the homes and the early morning guards on shift. Nodding in silent greeting, their faces tired and no doubt ready to sleep, Red Trout left the main section of the settlement, walking through the stretching, rolling, plains in the bowl of the mountains that contained them. Fog settled low on the ground, a gentle mist in the air that was filled with bird song. The scent of grass was strengthened by the dew that soaked it, having rained last night. The freshness eased any tightened muscles from sleep, Red Trout rolling her neck with a content sigh.

Reaching the hill that Red Trout liked to perch upon when watching the sheep or spending time with Tall Standing Bear and Fox, the young woman paused. The sunlight was filtering over the peaks of the mountains, golden piercing through the morning grey and blue. The weak warmth was enough to bring a slight flush to her cheeks as she closed her eyes, soaking it in.

She loved her life with the tribe. It had taken time, taken many tears and a large amount of guilt. But Red Trout had found closure with the grief that lingered, knowing that her happiness was more important than the phantoms that tried to shame her for it. Her first parents might have disapproved of her choices, perhaps her siblings would hate her for picking a new home over fighting to get back to Winterfell . Robb had died for their home, so had Rickon and Bran. Arya was gone with the wind, and Jon so far away it was incomprehensible to think of them ever reuniting.

Maybe it was cowardly, to not return to the North, to rally loyal bannermen under her cause, but Red Trout had laid those thoughts to rest with the ghosts of her family. Moving on was hard, the songs never talked about how hard it was to live past the grief, instead of letting death take hold. Dying was easier than living, making Red Trout think that she must be some sort of brave within her to continue on.

The connection that had slowly formed between her and White Claw tugged. There was a prick of alertness that had Red Trout opening her eyes sharply, glancing around to see what had startled her wolf. Facing towards the mountains, not the valley that led to Jaxton's trading post but towards the south of the bowl they lived in, Red Trout caught sight of White Claw still and watching a lone rider coming towards the settlement at a gallop.

A surge of hope rose to her throat, but she couldn't be sure. Glancing around the sky for a bird, she caught sight of a lazily soaring bird of prey – it was too far for her to tell exactly its breed – and warged into it.

The colours of the land sharpened from the sky, and she took a swoop down to get closer to the rider. A man. He was not paying attention to her in the bird, heading towards the village. But the familiar sight of a white handprint on his chest had Red Trout snapping back into her body. Staggering at the sudden change, Red Trout took a quick breath, grinned, and bolted towards Walking Crow.

Down the hill, past the barn, around the edge of the lake, and she was directly running towards him, no obstacles in her way. White Claw sped past her, always faster, and Red Trout let out a whoop, raising an arm to wave at the approaching man. She watched as he slowed his horse down, before spurring it back into motion. However, as he got closer, Walking Crow brought the animal to a halt to jump down and run the rest of the way.

White Claw met him first jumping in excitement around the running man, before joining him on her return back to Red Trout. Cheeks damp and hurting from how wide her smile was stretching them, Red Trout's feet ate up the ground. The distance between them dwindled rapidly that she was taken off guard when they collided. Her arms thrown over his shoulders, Red Trout felt when Walking Crow's strong arms wrapped around her middle. He spun them with the momentum, and she choked out, “Oh, I've missed you!”

A shuddering breath, and she felt as he buried his face into the crook of her neck. His words were muffled as he replied, “I've missed you too, Sansa.”

Hearing her first name sent a warmth through her, slipping back down to her feet as they parted. Hands resting on her waist, Red Trout took him in, just as he was doing with her. White Claw sniffed curiously at the young man before trotting away, leaving the humans to their reunion.

There wasn't much change from when she last saw him, though his cheeks had lost that last of their baby fat, leaving behind a sharp and strong bone structure. His eyes just as kind, his brows just as thick and emotive. He also felt a little lean, but not horribly underweight, and that satisfied her concerns. There was, however, a fresh scar on his temple, coming down to his jaw on the left side. It looked to be healing well, when Red Trout brushed her finger across it, and then after a moment's pause, searching for permission, the young woman sank her hand into his hair at the base of his neck when she got a soft smile. It was longer and loose around his shoulders, just like hers was. 

Her heart was pounding from both the run and the abundance of emotions bursting within her chest. Red Trout’s thoughts were just the mantra of ‘he’s back, he’s back’, and nothing could silence the joy the words held.

Walking Crow was inspecting her as well, a hand leaving her waist the brush against the snug headband-turned-necklace to earrings that she had forgotten to take out last night, untangling strands of her auburn curls from them before resettling his hand back to her waistline. Whatever he saw, Walking Crow appeared satisfied. Pulling him down, Red Trout pressed their foreheads together, sharing mists of breath between them, as the young woman murmured, “I am Red Trout now, but you can still call me Sansa. ”

“Red Trout.” He whispered with approval, “It suits you.” His dark eyes were filled with warmth, and her breath caught when she noticed them flick down for a fleeting moment. Red Trout had spent an entire year declaring to anyone who cared that she would marry Walking Crow, and had spent the year before aching to be allowed to even love him. Red Trout did not waste time leaning up to press a kiss to his lips. She lacked experience, so it was a hesitantly soft, lingering touch. The hands around her waist tightened in surprise, but Walking Crow kissed her back.

It was sunlight bursting through an overcast sky. It was the sharpness of cold water against her skin. It was a brilliant full moon against the canvas of stars. It was perfection.

And when they parted, Red Trout felt the sting of loss from the breaking of contact. She wanted more, and so she rose back to her toes and kissed him again, fiercer, and braver this time. In between the second and third kiss, Red Trout met his gaze and declared, “I love you, Walking Crow. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, by your side.”

Wide eyed, astonished, Walking Crow reached up to caress her cheek. His breathing was sharp and jagged, and his words were strained, thick with emotion as he replied, “I love you too. My Sansa , my Red Trout. I would be the luckiest man in the world to marry you, and fool to reject you.” He brushed away the tears that fell from her eyes, and pulled her back into another kiss.

Yes, Red Trout was quite certain with her decision to stay with the tribe. Where else would she have found a love like this? Unconditional, and unwavering.

Chapter Text

The harbour of Braavos was bustling, a familiar setting for Arya. She was no longer Cat of the Canals, but there was the surety in her steps that spoke of having walked these streets many times. The young woman couldn't help the ease that settled over her shoulders. Despite the painful training with the Faceless Men, she had come to love the city.

A part of her wondered if she should visit the House of Black and White, before immediately banishing the thought. She knew she would not be welcomed there, and Arya already had a quest to begin with. There would be no getting sidetracked.

Bran's words echoed in her head, instructions on where to find the man that would take her to Sansa, as Arya began to navigate through the harbour. Their sister had been wayward for years, the last news Arya herself had heard of her was that she disappeared on the day of Joffrey's murder. The young woman had gotten very good at getting information, but there was nothing on Sansa after that day. She was gone . Completely disappeared like smoke in the wind.

It was only after she returned home, reunited with her brothers, that Arya had learnt of Sansa's fate. Bran, eerie in his behaviour but with a wealth of knowledge at his fingertips, had informed them of where she was.

Essos. Far across the Narrow Sea and deep into a long mountain range. Bran had spoken of how Sansa had washed ashore, taken in by kind strangers, and how she had made her home with them. Arya could fully admit she was not happy with Sansa for never having tried to return back to Winterfell. They were family, even if the sisters were never close. But Bran had given one last piece of advice, after they defeated the Night King and Arya decided to set out to find Sansa:

'She is not like you, Arya. And she did not know what was happening in the North. She believes that all of us are gone. Do not blame her for finding a new home.'

It infuriated Arya for a long time, the heat of her anger warming her through the journey to White Harbour, and then over the water to Essos. It died somewhat in that time though, and Arya found sharp focus to replace it as she searched for the man named Jaxton. A merchant who sold his wares to the people Sansa now lived with.

Asking around, it took Arya two days to get any information, and then a week of waiting around before Jaxton had arrived to sell his traded items. Eyeing his stall as he talked with a customer, Arya noted the stone and shell carved beads, the strange wooden circles, wrapped in leather with a web like weaving in the centre. There were feathers dangling from the end. She wondered what they were for, if they even had a point or were just purely decorative. There were woven blankets, jewellery, some clothing, but they all gained some form of attention from buyers.

When Jaxton turned to her after accepting coin from a customer, Arya asked, “I've been told you might be able to direct me to the Blue Mountain Tribes?” Bran was good enough to have given her that information, but she noticed the way the man tensed up, suspicious.

“Depends on who is asking?”

“I'm looking for my sister.”

Jaxton eyed her closely, before something in his expression lit up. “I think I know who you’re talking about. What’s her name?” 

The young woman couldn’t fault him for his caution and answered readily, “Sansa. I'm Arya.”

“Hmm,” The man contemplated, running a hand over his bristly jaw, “I might be able to tell you where she is. But I've heard many stories across the sea about what is going on in Westeros. Sansa is a friend, I do not wish to endanger her.” Arya, though annoyed at not being given a straight answer, had to begrudgingly admire the man for not selling her sister out. “Tell me a story,” Jaxton then requested, “She told me one about a prank and a crypt.”

It had been years since Arya had even thought about that memory, and unbidden, a smile crept up her lips. Stepping closer, the young woman told the story, and knew she was going to see her sister soon enough with the way Jaxton's expression warmed.

Unfortunately, Arya had to wait another three days before the man packed up his stall and headed back towards his home. She had learnt patience, but even this was getting to become unbearable. However, Jaxton had not given her directions, only offered to bring her there. “The Blue Mountains are a very dangerous place.”

Arya coolly replied, rankled at her skills being doubted. “I can handle thieves and bandits.” However, the man snorted, “Oh, I'm not talking about people, my Lady.” And left that ominous warning hanging, the young woman faltering in a moment of doubt at the destination they were heading. But she rallied her confidence again internally. She fought against the Night King’s army, whatever lay within the mountain range couldn’t compare to that.

When they were finally on the road, the man's wagon creaking as his horses pulled it along, Arya found Jaxton to be a decent travelling companion. He knew the roads well, was a great storyteller, and very polite. Arya had requested news on Sansa, a hint of desperation in her tone. She grew up envious of Sansa's natural talents in being a lady, as well as finding her annoying with her infatuation for that monster Joffrey. But Arya was older now, and she could admit that she missed her big sister. There was a time when they shared a bed together, when they played together. They were hazy memories now, but Arya knew them to exist. Before they grew up to be two very different people, Sansa and Arya were close.

She wondered if Sansa recalled those times.

Jaxton told her about a few things, seemingly still unsure about giving a full rundown of Sansa's life. “She's an excellent weaver, found herself a place with the other weavers in her tribe.” The young woman caught the pride blatantly in his tone of voice, “She also knits me some clothes from time to time, trading them for journals. I barely got much interest with those things, but Sansa's always happy to trade for one or two every year.”

“The people of the tribes. Do they treat her well?” Arya had to ask, still holding suspicion for these strangers. The man chuckled, waving off her concern, “Oh, absolutely! Even from the beginning, she had Walking Crow stuck to her like a bur. Only once had I seen her without that young man.”

Arya's eyes narrowed, “Who is he? What did you call him.. Wa-Wal-?” She struggled to pronounce the unfamiliar language. “ Walking Crow.” Jaxton corrected, before guiding her through saying it a few times. Then, once Arya got the hang of the name, he explained, “That's her husband-”

“She's married!?”

Arya allowed herself to be shocked by the news for a day. It was just practical, that’s all. She slept on it, and though there was a hint of resentment at Sansa having built a life without her family, Arya let the knowledge settle and then demanded that Jaxton teach her some of the language. She wasn't going to go into all of this completely stupid. He chuckled and guided her through both the language, and the culture and traditions. Not wanting to offend a group of people – Arya knew she was a good fighter, but she wasn't overconfident – the young woman soaked up the knowledge.

It sounded almost fictitious, hearing about this society of people. How they lack nobility or worry about continuing bloodlines. They were a mix of nomadic and settled, living off the land and working together. A tight knit community that many places and people in Westeros lacked. It was bizarre.

And when they reached the edges of the Blue Mountains, Arya could see why the peaks were named as such. The mountains were large giants, thick forests and unstable terrain, a dangerous place to travel if not prepared for it. But Jaxton navigated it all easily, and began to warn her, “Now, don't go leaving the campsite at night. If you hear screams and calls for help, leave it alone. There are some strange creatures and spirits in these parts.”

In the past, Arya might have scoffed and called it superstition. But after the Night King, after seeing dragons with her own eyes, the young woman nodded seriously. “I understand.”

“Good,” He nodded gruffly, “I would hate to have to explain to Sansa that I got her sister killed and eaten by some cannibal spirit.” Arya had demanded more information on what the hells had he meant on that, to which he stayed very tight-lipped, citing that talking and naming the spirits could lead to their appearance. Now, that she had found overly superstitious, but the man would not budge, so Arya had to contend with her own imagination and horrible nightmares at the possibilities that lay within the forests around them.

The long trek through the mountains ended with it opening up into a valley between the towering formations. At the top of the incline that led down into it, Arya took in the large lake that spanned a good chunk of the land, the rolling hills with herds of sheep milling about, farm land being worked, and the village. It was no castle, nor was it a city. But it was an old settlement going by how worn some of the paths were. These people have been here for a long, long time.

“Now,” Jaxton began, urging the horses to walk again, “I'll do the talking, introduce you and your reason for coming. Once I tell them about you, Sansa should be informed soon enough.” From the distance, Arya could make out all the dark hair the people had, and decided Sansa should be easy to spot. However, as she tried to peer for that spark of colour, she couldn't find the familiar auburn hair anywhere.

A man mounted on a horse then broke off from the village, coming towards them. Jaxton halted the wagon once more, hopping off as he motioned for Arya to stay put. Nearly vibrating with anticipation, it was difficult to not go running through the village in search of Sansa. Finally. Finally, she was here. And finally she would get answers.

Watching Jaxton, the man calmly approached the rider, who began to talk in that unknown language. She mainly caught the greeting, but the rest of it was incomprehensible to her ears, though Arya did catch the usage of her name, making her sit up straighter.

The rider glanced over at her before turning his attention back to Jaxton. More words were exchanged before the man turned his horse around and galloped back to the village. There was a small crowd forming at the edge of the settlement now, and when the man arrived back, a woman broke off not too long after, running towards the lake.

Following the woman, Arya hadn't thought to look there for Sansa, thinking that she would be deep within the settlement. However, as she scanned the edges of the lake, she caught sight of a figure knee deep in the water, red hair tied back as she bent over, pulling a net full of fish out of the water. Arya's breath caught in her throat, and she began to hurriedly climb down out of the wagon.

In that time, Sansa must have been informed because she noticed her sister quickly shrug off some pack on her back, handing it over to the woman before sprinting out of the water towards Arya. Unable to wait any longer, the young woman bolted to meet her.

There was no call of warning from behind her, so Arya figured she was alright. But only a small part of her mind was focused on such dangers, the majority attention taken up by the fast approaching figure of her sister. Her heart beat rapidly, choking out a dry sob of relief seconds before they collided. Arya found herself wrapped up into a tight embrace, hearing her sister's voice for the first time in seven years.

“Arya! Oh, Arya you're alive! You're alive. ” Sansa exclaimed tearfully, elated. Feeling her own tears prick at the corner of her eyes, the younger sister’s words wavering with her own rejoice, “I could say the same about you!”

Laughing wetly, Sansa pulled back and Arya was taken aback by how different she looked compared to when they were younger. Gone were the elaborate hairstyles and pretty dresses. Her pale skin had darkened a little from constant sunlight and freckled as well. Arya hadn’t known her sister could even get freckles! Her hair was in a singular braid, reminiscent of their mother's own style, and she had inked marks on her chin. A single thick line in the centre with two thinner lines bracketing it. But despite all the changes, she was still the highborn beauty that everyone talked about, though now with a touch of wildness from her time far from Westeros.

And just as she was taking in Sansa's changes, her sister was doing the same, brushing a hand over the scar on her face. “You've grown...” The older sister murmured, eyes still wet with joy and Arya was stunned by the strong sense of pride in her sister's voice.

Sniffling, Arya looked down at the deer hide clothes and beading, before noting her bare feet. She snorted, unable to help herself, “Septa would have rapped your knuckles.” Following where Arya was looking down at, Sansa then giggled and nodded, “She would've rapped my knuckles for many things.”

They shared a smile, a hint of melancholy from the thought of their younger years, before Arya remembered and punched Sansa's shoulder. “You're married!” Though she winced at the hint, Sansa didn't complain, instead brightening, “I am! You must meet him, he is wonderful.”

“I can't believe you got married! You never came back home!” Arya accused, that anger from before rising. However, Sansa didn't meet Arya’s anger with her own, nor did she show a hint of guilt. Instead, her smile dropped as her chin tilted up in a soft show of defiance. “Yes. I married, and yes, I never came back home.”

Narrowing her eyes, Arya stayed silent, waiting for an explanation. She didn't get one, as a man approached them. He had his hair in a loose tail, a white handprint on his chest and a fierce expression. Arya couldn't help the way she stepped back into a stance, hand finding Needle. His dark eyes watched, unaffected by her defence as he turned to Sansa when the woman noticed him. Her expression warmed and she left Arya's side, speaking in that language fluently. The young woman saw how Sansa's hand rested gently on his arm and knew right away that this was the husband. Arya tightened her hand around her sword's hilt.

“Arya,” Sansa warned, and the younger sister took her eyes off the man, shooting the older woman a glare. “Don't start a fight.”

“Then give me some answers.” Arya shot back.

Sansa let out a heavy sigh, murmuring something again to her husband. The man gave a nod and strode off back to the village. Facing Arya again, the woman beckoned her over, “Come, we will have something to eat as we talk. But promise me you won't draw your blade on anyone.”

“I won't if they won't.”

The auburn haired woman rolled her eyes, and the sharp familiarity of the gesture eased the prickly sensation in Arya's chest. Releasing Needle, the young woman followed Sansa as they walked into the village. Many people were watching, a hint of distrust and unease in their gazes, and Arya swallowed thickly. It felt like she was entering enemy territory, and tried not to focus on them. Instead, she took in the place Sansa had now apparently called home. The huts were made of mud and wood and straw, far more rudimentary than even the smallfolk of Westeros. She wondered how Sansa, with her many sensibilities, had managed to live in such a place. Arya found it fascinating immediately, but she knew her sister.

Or, at least she thought she did, eyeing the way Sansa walked through all of it with no issue or hidden veil of disgust on her face. In fact, she had a shine of fondness for it all, and was stopped by an older woman on the way, whom she gave a quick kiss to the cheek and spoke in a reassuring tone. The older woman gazed impassively at Arya before nodding sharply to Sansa. Then, with a loving touch to her sister's cheek, the woman parted, heading into a hut nearby.

“Who was that?” Arya had to ask, stepping up to walk beside Sansa. The woman gazed at her from the corner of her eye before looking away as she replied, “That was my mother.”

Arya stopped short. “What?”

A deep breath in was her response, Sansa continuing to walk that Arya had no other choice but to follow despite the warring emotions in her chest. 'Mother? ' Had Sansa really moved on from everything? Had she cast aside her entire family, just like she had for the Lannisters? Arya couldn't understand, and couldn't even react how she wished to with the way all the people were watching them.

However, the second she ducked under the thick skin that was the entrance into Sansa's hut, Arya immediately hissed, “I can't believe you!” Once again, Sansa did not react, instead moving around a centre fire pit to sit opposite the doorway, beginning to fill a pot with water to then set it to boil. It was all practice movements, and still, her sister did not react in any way that was similar to when they were younger. Sansa just continued to work.

Arya wanted to take the bowl she was filling with flour and throw it. Her anger was building with the lack of attention. However, she took a deep breath, blowing out an explosive sigh and thought to herself, ' Fine, we'll do it your way.' And sat down heavily across from her sister.

Once she did so, the older woman looked up, expression gentle, “You must be hungry and tired. How was your trip here?” Arya had no desire to play at pleasantries, but did so anyway. With a fake smile, the young woman drawled, “Oh, it was great. Got warned about some evil spirits in the mountains.”

Serious, Sansa nodded, adding some milk to the bowl, “A member of our tribe went missing some years back on a hunt. When a search was sent, they found him but he was...wrong.” The older sister frowned, looking down at the dough she was now kneading. “There have been a lot of restless spirits for a while, and it is hard to do a full cleanse of the area. A war had started up four years ago between two other tribes. One had a young chief who sought war, and it led to a lot of death. We've had to take on some of those who escaped the battles, particularly the children.”

The anger that was simmering died a little as she listened to Sansa talk. Relaxing her crossed arms, Arya stayed quiet. Jaxton had mentioned that the tribes were not power hungry, and they lived far less complicated lives than in Westeros. She had assumed that meant Sansa was living a carefree life while the rest of the Starks were struggling to survive. As she began to twist the dough in long lengths around some sticks, Sansa continued, “I helped Has The Eagle , our version of a Maester, but also a religious advisor within the tribe, with the wounded.”

She paused, lips pressed in a thin line as she stuck the sticks at an angle over the fire, cooking the dough. Then, with a breath, her sister glanced up at her and smiled, “But that was a few years ago. It has been mainly good, though that time with the bear was not fun at all.” And she rubbed at her shoulder. Arya's eyes zeroed in on that gesture, and could just faintly see a line of puckered skin against the exposed collar bone. Then, Sansa dropped her hand and smiled, meeting Arya's stare. In the silence, the young woman got the feeling she was now given permission to talk, and she did so.

Sansa answered easily, “Last I had heard of Winterfell was that it was taken by the Boltons. I thought all but Jon was dead. I had no one.”

“You still could have found a way back!” Arya accused, “I did!”

“Yes,” Sansa agreed calmly, “But I was also in the middle of Essos, a land unfamiliar to me. I only had the people who were kind enough to take me in. And they gave me the chance to heal.”

“' Heal' ,” Arya scoffed, disbelieving, “What did you need to heal from? You were in a castle-”

Here, there was a storm cloud that rolled over the calm demeanour. “I was surrounded by enemies.” Sansa sharply cut her off, “Just because I wasn't running about in the woods, didn't mean I was living safely. I was a prisoner , Arya. I had to pretend to love Joffrey after watching him cut off our father's head. He took me up to stare at the heads of our household! He had the King’s Guard beat me every time Robb won a battle! I won't say that whatever you've been through was less worse than me, but don't you dare say I did not earn the right to heal once given the chance.”

For a short second, the young woman’s ire faltered, but she still threw back, “You've forgotten your true family!”

“I can make a new family, Arya!”

“You're calling a stranger 'mother'! ” Arya spat, “How dare you replace-”

“I never replaced any of you!” Sansa cried, tears of anger in her eyes, and Arya paused, surprised. “I mourned you all! I spent years grieving you all, and it killed me with the guilt I constantly felt every second I had a happy moment. I could never r eplace any of you.” The woman choked out, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth to hold back a sob. She looked away from Arya, breathing sharp and rapid. “I did all that I could,” Sansa whispered, “To remember you all, to help ease the ache in my broken heart. I climbed trees like Bran, I learnt archery like you, I rode horses, despite how much I hated to do so, because all of you enjoyed it. I tried to write down all the good memories, and even the bad! I never forgot any of you. ”

Arya's fists were clenched tightly, staring at her sister. Sansa was a stranger to her now, and she just couldn't understand how she had moved on so easily from the tragedy that tore their family apart. Bowing her head, the young woman listened to the uneven breathing of her upset sister as Sansa began to fuss about the fireplace. Silence rang between them, tense and coiled tightly. Arya was waiting for the next words of betrayal, braced for it even. Instead, minutes later, a bowl was brought into eyesight. There was the cooked dough, now bread and steaming. It was ripped into chunks with slices of meat and berries to go with it. “Here.” Sansa softly spoke, “Eat.”

After a long moment of staring at it, Arya accepted the bowl roughly and began to eat. She hadn't realised how hungry she was until it was suddenly all gone, stomach full. Sansa chuckled faintly, making Arya look back up at her. She was gazing at her own food fondly.

“They found me not too far from the beach I washed ashore on. After scaring me into a river, they provided me with dry clothes and food. The first true kindness for the first time in a whole year, I nearly cried. I did end up doing so later, of course.”

“...You always cried easily.” Arya couldn't help but dig, searching for some kind of familiarity, and instead of being offended, Sansa laughed once more. “I did. Still do, actually. Cried so much those first few years with the tribe. But that first night, they fed me almost the exact same meal, though without the berries.”

Arya didn't know what to do with the Sansa before her. She was so strange from the child she once knew. There was still that elegance in her movements, that poise in how she sat, but she seemed to happily live in a hut. There were cots on the ground, which Arya assumed Sansa slept on, and the girl she once knew would have complained about having to do so. And she cooked! Even Arya didn't cook! It just felt so wrong, so out of place, and Arya didn't know what to do. She was meant to bring her sister back home, and instead, she knew she would be leaving this place without Sansa.

She hated that.

There was a slight commotion from outside, and a child was suddenly darting into the hut, past Arya, nearly running into her back as she came to jump into Sansa's arms. “Mama!”  

The older sister smiled brightly, eyes full of love as she held the girl, “My sweet girl!” She cooed in return, pressing a kiss to her cheek, before giving an exaggerated frown, “You were meant to be with your grandmother.” Arya couldn't understand exactly what was being said, but she heard the faint reprimand in Sansa's tone.

The little girl pouted, turning to look at Arya as she pointed and said, “I saw you with her! Who is she, mama?”

Sansa pressed a kiss to the girl's cheek once more, and Arya realised that this was her niece. This was Sansa's child. She was a mother now. The way she looked at her daughter was how mother had looked at them. Sansa’s hand running gently over one of the twin braids on the girl and Arya could recall the phantom touch of Catelyn Stark doing the same to her years ago. Arya saw the blue eyes, Tully blue, and felt something clog up in her throat.

“Sansa...” Arya softly spoke, and her sister gathered her daughter into her lap and introduced proudly, “This is your niece, First Snow. ”

“Jaxton said the names here have meaning.” Arya asked leadingly, and Sansa nodded. “Her name means First Snow. When the first week passed with her still being healthy after being born, it snowed. She was a winter child.” And the love in her voice was painful.

“Oh.” Was all Arya could say. Sansa then turned back to First Snow and whispered something in her ear. The little girl pouted but ran back out of the home. Arya watched her leave before glancing back to Sansa. “This is your home now, isn't it.” Arya softly said, finality settling in her stomach. It wasn’t alone, grief sat alongside it, and it was a horrible feeling.

Her sister sighed gently, getting up to sit beside Arya. A hand on her cheek – a very motherly gesture – Arya was brought to meet Sansa's eyes. softly, the older woman replied honestly, “Yes. This is my home. It's not so different if I had married some lord in Westeros. I would have moved from Winterfell, I would have had children, and I might not have seen you all for many years.”

“But you would have been on the same continent as us.”

“True.” Sansa agreed, “But beyond distance, and beyond time, you will be my family. Winterfell will still be my first home. And I will still always love you.”

“They're alive.” Arya revealed, suddenly recalling, “Bran and Rickon. They escaped.”

Sansa's eyes widened, fresh tears blooming as she smiled wide. “I knew it.”

“Really?” Arya’s brows flew up, disbelieving, “How?”

“I had a vision. It was during my journey-”

“Where did you go?”

Sansa laughed, shaking her head, “No, it was a metaphorical journey. Of the mind. I saw two paths to take, one led back to Winterfell, and I heard the howling of wolves. There were four calls, and I just knew that they were still alive somehow.”

“Gods,” Arya couldn’t help but groan, “That’s such a Bran thing to say.”

“What’s happening with Bran?”

Getting comfortable where she sat, the younger sister began to weave the tale of just how weird their little brother was, Sansa sitting there, enraptured by it all. It eased any lingering tension and grief between them for a time.

Once Red Trout had settled her sister into Running Crane and Quick With Water's home – there wasn't room in her own, as well as her wanting to give Arya space – the woman sighed hard. Alone in her home, she buried her head into her hands and just let herself feel .

It was more than a shock to see her sister, having truly thought her dead, even with knowing how tenacious Arya was. It was just easier to believe she was truly gone than to continue worrying over her survival, plus her vision could have been just false hope. And now, with her sister here, it was like she was twelve again, facing down her guilt and shame once more. Red Trout knew there was nothing to be ashamed about, she had every right to start anew, but it was hard to keep that mentality when your little sister was accusing you of forgetting your family.

Eyes stinging again, Red Trout gave them a rough scrub, trying to banish them away. She had cried enough today, and her children did not need to see her upset. The thought of her children, of her daughters and son, made her heart soften around the ache that clenched it tightly. No matter how Arya felt about her settling down here, Red Trout could never regret the existence of her children. She would never regret choosing Walking Crow and the tribe over the unknown that awaited her if she had travelled back to Westeros.

She knew Arya was just angry, that she felt it was unfair that she struggled through so much to return home, and that Red Trout was here, happy and healing. And maybe her sister had the right to feel that way, that Red Trout got out of the tragedy that pulled their family into the deepest depths of despair. Red Trout swam against that vicious current and got free. Arya ...hadn't.

The woman could see the violence that haunted her sister's steps, knew that Arya could use her blade. The younger sister walked with the cant of a honed fighter, and Red Trout hoped to get her side of the story tomorrow, if she was willing to share. And no matter what Arya might have done, Red Trout would not judge her for it. If Arya had gone about killing people who had harmed her or their family, then Red Trout could not blame her for it, like how her sister should not blame her for moving on. It was all so muddled and confusing now, being thrown back into her life in Westeros, and Red Trout had no desire to be pulled back into that horrible place. After so long building up bonds and connections with the tribe, she couldn't fathom going back to the falsity of her first home. No amount of finery and decadent lifestyle could make her go back there willingly.

The entrance covering parted, and Red Trout turned to see Walking Crow. Immediately, the tears she tried to repress came back with a vengeance and soon she was gathered up into a warm embrace, strong arms that promised to protect her against the world as she sobbed. Her husband said nothing, only held her as she wept. He did not need to speak, he understood her pain right away, that instinctive knowledge shared between them that had built up over time since the very beginning lending its hand.

As he pressed a kiss to her hair, Red Trout turned her face up to him, “I think she hates me.” Walking Crow shook his head as he wiped away her tears with his thumb, “She is confused. Give her time to rest and understand.”

Pursing her lips, Red Trout leant her head against his collar bones and murmured, “It's like I'm a child all over again, and not a mother of three.”

He hummed lightly, before adding, “Do not forget that you are also a healer, a weaver, a shepherd, a wrangler of misbehaving wolves, a slayer of bears-”

She snorted at his dry humour, “It was just the one bear, and I had help.”

“Of course.” Walking Crow nodded solemnly, “I should have said instead that you are an adorable and angry looking squirrel-” Red Trout shoved him with a mock gasp of offence, unable to stop her smile creeping up, “I do not look like a squirrel!”

“You do not see your face when you are mad, little trout.” Walking Crow smirked, leaning back in to plant a soft kiss to her lips. Red Trout melted into it before pulling back. “And where are our children? I do not smell smoke so I assume they haven't burnt the village to the ground.”

Chuckling, Walking Crow said, “They are with your parents, who have plenty of experience containing wild children.” At his pointed look, Red Trout nodded solemnly, “Arrowhead was a nightmare, from what mother said. And you were very good at picking fights with skunks-”

“That only happened twice!” Her husband groaned, and Red Trout laughed as she corrected him, “Four times! Don't lie.”

“I never should have left you with Arrowhead alone.” Walking Crow grumbled as he began to help Red Trout with preparing the home for the evening. Pecking him on the cheek to soothe his harmed ego, the woman got up and left. And as she did so, breathing in the fresh evening air, hearing the life around her, she realised with exasperated fondness that Walking Crow really did know how to improve her mood. Smiling to herself, Red Trout plucked up an empty basket by the door and went to collect some wood from the communal pile, and along the way she would collect her wayward children as well.

First Snow was conceived more than likely not long after the wedding. Having married in the spring, her daughter came that same year. The bundle of joy had Red Trout almost refusing to let her leave her arms the first few months, and it was a good thing the tribe traditionally had the mothers carry their babes around on their backs. The cradleboard was very helpful as she went about her tasks, once Has The Eagle and Running Crane deemed her healed enough to do so.

Red Trout had married at fifteen, a year after Walking Crow returned from his journey, as the war between two tribes began, though the Red Buffalo tribe were unaffected at that time. And in that period, she gained her first daughter, survived another war – however her people were directly involved this time – and gained another daughter and a son as peace settled again. 

When she was seventeen, almost three years into the war between the tribes, Thundering Woman came into their lives. The girl was an eleven year old orphan, having fled her tribe as it was attacked. She sought refuge with Red Buffalo, and Red Trout - seeing herself in the child - took her in as her own. The girl was a quiet one, though with her name, it should not be surprising that she could let out a war cry to rival even the most experienced of warriors. Her tribe, Wild Bear, had put up a strong defence against the attacking Tall Elk tribe, but many were slaughtered and their settlement burnt. Thundering Woman was a talented fighter with a spear, even at her young age, and had taken a few enemies down as she fled to safety. 

Wild Bear were rebuilding now, many people from Many Horses and Red Buffalo joining to help boost their numbers again. But Thundering Woman hadn’t wanted to go back, not after the tragedy that she had witnessed and the death of her parents. And Red Trout and Walking Crow were more than willing to take the little warrior on as one of their own. First Snow loved her older sister, and Thundering Woman was a doting elder sibling in the way that Red Trout should have been for Arya.

And then her sweet Sparrow. Red Trout had chosen their daughter's name, but it was Walking Crow who picked their son's. She wanted them to take turns, thinking about how she wanted a few more children in the future, wishing for her children to grow up with a plentiful number of siblings like she had.

Sparrow was a child born after a war, and Red Trout had every plan to make sure he would never be touched by war. Not the way she had, nor the way the tribe had. They had lost good people in some of the skirmishes that breached their territory by the Tall Elk warriors. Red Trout had been blessed to have not lost her family, but she lost friends that had helped guide her into the adult she was, and the pain was still there now.

With the collected wood in the basket, Red Trout hefted it against her hip and headed towards her parent's home, shaking away her melancholic thoughts. She would not greet her children with such sadness.

First Snow was once again exuberant in greeting Red Trout as she ducked into her parent’s home. Thundering Woman, nearly fourteen now and with the first markings of the woman on her chin, was calmer in her greeting as she placed a soft kiss to Red Trout’s cheek. Sparrow was snoozing in his cradleboard on Forest Water’s back. 

After exchanging pleasantries and words of gratitude for keeping her children away as she confronted Arya’s anger, the mother and children left to return home, stars coming out now. Thundering Woman laced their hands together as she carried Sparrow on her back for the woman. Listening to First Snow ramble about her day, swinging on her other hand, White Claw coming out of the shadows to walk alongside them, maw tinged with blood from a meal, Red Trout felt her heart ease. Yes, this was exactly where she wanted to be.

Heavy Runner had matured over the years. When he lost his father during the first skirmish they had with Tall Elk, he'd closed himself off, focusing on the survival of the tribe. As Red Trout stood across from him, her Chief now, she could say she was proud of how he had grown up, though regretted that the loss of his one parent was the cause of it. He had done well, moving on from the young and arrogant man he once was that played with her and her friend's feelings, and had found his way back into Fox's good graces. Though that had taken a while, the couple having only married very recently.

“And you don't know how long she will be here for?” The man asked her. It was just her, Fox, and Heavy Runner in their home, Red Trout wishing to discuss the presence of her sister with him, after having neglected doing so yesterday. 

“She's troubled,” Red Trout sighed, “We've always had difficulties, and my decision on choosing the tribe over my first home does not sit well with her. She needs time to come to terms with it and to send her away would not help. I know,” Red Trout swallowed thickly, “I know that she is not part of the tribe, but she is still my sister, and I want to help her.”

Heavy Runner was quiet for a time, him and Fox exchanging silent glances. They communicated the same way her and Walking Crow would, or the way her parents do, and waited patiently for their decision. She would respect whatever choice they made, but knew it would still hurt to send away Arya after the fight they had.

“Very well,” Heavy Runner nodded, turning to face Red Trout once more. “But she must work. I do not care what she does, but she will earn her place among us for as long as she is here.”

Red Trout let out a relieved breath, bowing over her knees where she sat across from them. “Thank you, Chief.”

“Come,” Fox spoke up, as she stood, “Let's go talk with you sister.” And Red Trout took the offered hand gratefully. Even though it had been a few months since she birthed Sparrow, she sometimes had trouble standing up if she had been sitting for too long. Said child was once more on her back, asleep. Once up, the pair left the hut, heading towards Running Crane's home.

Tall Standing Bear no longer lived there with her grandmother and aunt. Instead, she and a few other young women who were unmarried had decided to share a home together. They gained a sense of independence out from under their guardians' eyes, but were not living alone. This meant there had been a free space for Arya to sleep in, and Red Trout prayed that her sister hadn't caused any problems for the elder. And going by the way her sister was mutinously glaring at a tangled ball of yarn, working it undone under Running Crane's serene gaze, Red Trout had a feeling that Arya had said something the woman was not happy with.

Both glanced up at Fox and Red Trout's arrival, and she watched secretly amused as a flash of relief washed over Arya's expression before it was covered up by a frown. She greeted the elder first with a soft kiss to her wrinkled cheeks, “Sleep well, grandmother?” She spoke in Westerosi, for Arya's sake.

“Much was spoken on,” Running Crane replied, side eyeing Arya, who glared at her in return, “But I am well rested.” She gave Red Trout a fond pat on her cheek before standing up. Fox and her were quick to help the old woman up, hearing her knees crackle. Running Crane rolled her eyes at their concern, waving them off as she slowly walked away.

Arya then muttered, “ Where did she learn our language?”

It was Fox who replied, her accent thick but understandable, “ She traveled lot young. ” Out of all the people Red Trout had taught to speak her tongue, Fox struggled the most with it. But she was not too bothered, as long as she got a sentence out that made sense. Red Trout sent her friend an encouraging nod, Fox grinning proudly before switching to her first language, “You know her best. Find where she will work well and let me know later.”

“I will.” Red Trout nodded, “Thank you.”

Fox patted her arm, waved at Arya, and then headed towards the other skinners, tanners, and fellmongers. She was ever so good with animal hides and furs. Her sister watched the woman leave with a curious frown, before turning to Red Trout, “ What's happening? ”

Kneeling down to help her sister untangle the yarn, Red Trout explained, “ If you are staying with us for a while, you have to earn your keep.”

“No guests allowed?”

“Of course guests are allowed. But we are no castle, and everyone must contribute to the tribe. I started helping with the tribe as soon as they brought me in.”

“And what will I be doing?” Arya asked, tone derisive, “ Mending clothes?”

“If you want to.” Red Trout shrugged, unaffected by her sister's distaste for using a needle that wasn't her blade as they finished untangling the yarn. “Or, you could help me out with the fish nets. Or help my good-brother with hunting small game. We try not to hunt anything too big too often around our settlement, leaving that to those that are in the hunting party, travelling the plains. ”

A tension in Arya's shoulders eased as she listened to Red Trout, and offered, “I could hunt small game. My archery skills are not too bad.”

Snorting, Red Trout offered, “Arrowhead will be a stern teacher if he catches mistakes. Taught me, after all.” Interest gleamed in Arya's eyes as she nodded, “I'll go with him.”

Red Trout smiled mischievously, “ He barely speaks Westerosi, so this will be fun.”

Arya stayed with the tribe for almost a month before she departed without Sansa. In that time, she begrudgingly came around to her sister's decision to stay with them in the end. They weren't bad people, the young woman had conceded. A part of her was still bitter over Sansa finding peace so soon compared to Arya having to struggle and claw for it.

Granted, that old woman Running Crane was terrifying and took Arya to task for her upset over Sansa's predicament. Her ears still burnt, recalling that lecture, and concluded that as long as she accepted Sansa's decision, she didn't have to be happy about it. It is what it is, the old woman had said. It's Sansa's choice in the end, and Arya can't change it.

And in that month, Arya got to meet her nieces and nephew properly, a little shocked by the older girl until it was all explained, but had a lot of fun sparring with Thundering Woman . She also met Sansa’s wolf, and though she wanted to be envious that her sister got to have a walk whereas Nymeria was fully wild now, she couldn’t find it in her to be so. Lady was killed, but Arya’s wolf who had done the attacking got free. Sansa deserved to have a wolf again. And at least this time, she gave her wolf a better name.

They exchanged stories together over meals and in free time between tasks and chores. Arya was surprised to know her sister gained a new name, describing her journey fully one night as they sat around the communal bonfire. Red Trout , a homage to their mother, Arya had privately thought to herself. And in return, her sister was astonished by the White Walkers that attacked the North, learning of the true reason the Wall was built in the first place.

After so long of being apart, of the chasm separating them when they were children, a bridge was finally built. They came back together on even ground and found a peace that suited them. They would never hold similar interests or dreams, but they loved one another too much to let a bitter distance grow again. All the mean words and hair tugs were forgiven, knowing that life was far too short to hold such pettiness against each other.

Arya had managed to wrangle a promise for Sansa and her family to visit one day. Her sister had smiled brightly and nodded. When her children were a little older, they would visit Winterfell. That had to be enough for Arya, who was bereft to be leaving Essos without her sister, as she had planned.

“I love you, Arya.” Sansa had said as Arya saddled up, the visit finally coming to an end. Grasping her sister's hand, the older woman said, “You are my sister, and no matter our differences and the distance between us, you will always be my little sister.”

“If we weren't sisters I think I would have tried to kill you.” Arya joked, finding it hard still to be vulnerable. And the jape should have fallen short, but even after all these years, Sansa knew her and wasn’t offended. Instead, Sansa rolled her eyes fondly. “And I would never have spoken to you, if we weren't sisters.”

“How terrible.” She couldn't help but drawl, and received a slight punch in her arm. Shocked by Sansa's show of violence, Arya gaped at the older woman. Laughing brightly, Sansa pressed a kiss to her forehead and wrapped her up into a hug. “Safe travels, Arya. And don't forget to give our brothers my letters, please.” Said letters were thick bundles of precious paper, covered in writing. The boys should be happy to receive them.

“I won't forget.” Arya assured her as they parted. Mounting the horse, Arya got herself situated before reminding Sansa, “And I won't forget your promise. I'll be seeing you again in five years. Don't die.”

Snorting, her sister crossed her arms. “You're going back to Westeros. You're more at risk of death than I am, idiot.”

“Whatever, stupid.” They shared a grin, and Arya could admit she was teary eyed as she rode off. But Sansa was the main crier between the pair, and felt no shame in her tears. Riding off, recalling the path she and Jaxton took to get here, Arya was heading home.