Wilting ♞ Sandor Clegane

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DESPITE THE CHANGING weather, the Riverlands remained green and fertile in the areas not ravaged by the war. The borders of the North had come too soon, but the safety of leaving the region where Starks had been hunted could not come soon enough. In the town of Fairmarket, she stopped for the night, desperate for a hot meal and roof as the rain had not stopped for two days. At the first light of dawn, she had saddled Almond and set out under a clear sky.

Anya heard the sound of another set of horse hooves beating on the dirt road and laid her hand over the hilt of Dark Sister. A black horse and rider appeared at her side before she could speak the stranger had already done so. "Dangerous times for a woman to be traveling alone."

"I can manage on my own," Anya retorted, easing Almond into a faster trot. Her new companion kept pace. He had deep brown hair, dark eyes, and a crooked smile adorned with a short unkempt beard. His armor was polished though she could not tell what or if he wore a sigil.

"Where are you going, my lady?" He asked.

Anya glanced at him for a moment and sighed. "The Quiet Isle."

"That's the way I'm going as well, Maidenpool for myself, though. Surely you would not reject the company." He seemed sincere enough. The Whent girl could tell by his manner of speech and attire that he was no beggar, but a proper gentleman. No doubt this man was a knight. "And who are you, good ser?"

"Hyle Hunt," he smiled. She knew House Hunt, they called the Reach home and were sworn to House Tarly. Anya opened her mouth to state her name, perhaps a peasant name and house that would not be recognized but she was not given the chance. "And you are Anya Stark." She nodded, keeping her gaze on the road ahead. "May I inquire why you seek the Quiet Isle." It was uncommon for women to frequent the island.

"I made a promise to someone there" —a brief smile came upon her lips as she thought of Sandor— "I will not break my word."

Hyle Hunt smiled as well, seeing she lived up to the Stark name, just as her brother had. "Honorable," he remarked. "Rumor has it those brothers have a Hound now." Anya laughed. The holy men of the Quiet Isle did, indeed, have a Hound.

He was decent company, quick to crack a joke, and quicker to draw his sword at any sound or movement he deemed strange. They had traveled together for several days now, each one seeming longer than the last. Hyle had told her it was because she was closer now, it always seemed to take longer when you were close. On the sixth day of their travels, they came to the edge of the Bay of Crabs, a league from the path she had taken to leave the isle. "Thank you for your company," Anya remarked, not having forgotten her courtesies or the expectations that came with a woman of her status.

Ser Hyle Hunt gave a slight nod. "A pleasure, my lady." He turned on his mount to face the forested path that led back to one of the main roads. "Perhaps the gods will allow us to cross paths once more, Lady Anya." He smiled and was trotting off, red cape floating out behind him.

The path back to the Quiet Isle was not one she would have thought to be on again, but in truth, there was nowhere else for her to go. She did not belong at the Wall even if Jon would have let her stay. And Sansa, her poor little bird, had been lost with no word on her whereabouts since her presumed part in Joffrey's death. And then there was Arya, a wild young wolf alone in the world. Anya went to the one place she would be guaranteed a roof and a good meal, if only for a little while.

She waited for the tide to recede and trekked across the muddy tidal flat, losing her boot twice along the way. By the early afternoon, she had come onto the shore with Almond behind her just as the tide came back in. An old brother greeted her with a fond smile. "The little rose has returned."