fly, little bird sansa stark & decimate Running was all she knew. All she remembered. Sansa had been running for years it seemed, her life ticking by with the passing of trees and days and weather patterns. How long had she been gone from the Eyrie? Days? Weeks? Time had become a fickle thing, a luxury. She couldn't afford it. All that mattered was food and water, and a place to rest for the night. Sansa could feel her legs aching nearly beyond repair with the strain of her constant movement. Her dress was torn at the shoulders and hem, dyed black hair tangled in a mass of unkempt curls down her back. Dirt smothered a pale, once-beautiful face. She was nothing, now. A homeless wanderer without a name. Even Alayne Stone was dead. Unable to walk further, Sansa knelt beside a small pond and dipped her shaking hands in the water. She took a moment to scrub her face clean from the filth she found there, eyeing her reflection in the water's surface with hopelessness. I look like a stranger, she thought sorrowfully. A beaten, bruised stranger. Tears stung her eyes. Was there anything left of the girl she used to be? Sansa wept by the side of the pond and prayed to whatever gods were listening for some small justice. Enough to live a life away from here, enough to taste freedom once again. But Sansa could not cry forever. Like the warrior she had become, she wiped her tears and trekked onward toward whatever lay ahead. Hours passed. Sansa slept in the shade of a great oak tree and woke the following morning, watching the Trident looming on the horizon. How had she walked so far? Was this truly the Trident, or had she lost her bearings? Sansa wasn't sure. Forward was her only answer. She rose from her sleeping position and began her forward march, for it was all she knew. The cold became unbearable as the day progressed. The closer Sansa came to the river, the harsher autumn's wrath became. She stopped against a rock face and wiped the sweat from her weary brow, yearning for water or food. Comfort. Relief. Something, anything. She closed her eyes and dreamt of home, of snow and castles and warm evening fires. I could die here. I could close my eyes, go to sleep and never wake again. I could die here. I could die here. Rain began to fall. Slowly at first, then all at once, much like falling in love. Sansa opened her eyes. The river was closer, now. She was exhausted, malnourished and tired and completely separated from herself. It would be so nice to fall asleep, to dream and never wake again. It called to her. Sansa approached the river bank and curled up beside it. She didn't care if she was found anymore, Lord Baelish would be kind for a while, or maybe death would take her when the waters rose. She was half Tully; dying here seemed fitting after all. She closed her eyes and felt nothing but the cold as consciousness slipped away.