[ sansa stares at him. truly stares, terribly out of line with the openness of it. there's so much to process about what he's said, what he's asking; she doesn't know where to start. ]

I know men like that. [ might as well start with the biggest cut out of all of them. it's the rawest one, in every sense; she can still feel his marks on her every time she walks. ] The man I was given to is like that.

[ she could say it's why her name is different, but that feels a little too honest. too close. will you hunt him for me, then? she almost dares to ask; what's the harm? he doesn't know her or ramsay, or the entire bloody, mangled mess back home. ]

I'll hold you, [ she offers instead. an arm around her back— she could bear through it, maybe, but she doesn't want to. she frees her cloak and offers the edge of it to red, so he could wrap it around his shoulders for extra warmth. it'll be a tight huddle, but it's better than nothing. ]

Her name is Lady. My wolf.