[ If there is something Alayne wants to say, she keeps it tucked underneath her tongue as she bites down on the tip, teeth sinking into willful, sympathetic meat that would readily apologize rather than see his back turned to her. Was that what he wanted — for her to be contrite or weepy? For her to fold her hands and no longer be willful or did he want her to fight? Alayne had assumed the later but perhaps she'd been wrong and now she'd never know the answer. Part of her prickles at that fact, niggles with frustrated irritation at both him and her, but another part feels simply sad. (She had prayed for the Hound even though he'd been cruel to her, even though he seemed to take joy in telling her the most horrible things. If given the choice, would she pray for Ranger Hansen?
Alayne doesn't know.)
Fine, he says, and she watches him go, her hands curled in the fabric of her skirt as her pride roots her to the spot and stills her into silence. Lady, however, does not prove as obedient and instead pads forward to his side, looking up at him with her large golden eyes, wounded where her mistress refuses to be as the both of them continue down the hall away from Alayne.
She whimpers once, questioningly at him. (Lady would always express what Alayne would not; the direwolf was more part of her than anyone knew.) ]
» action.
Alayne doesn't know.)
Fine, he says, and she watches him go, her hands curled in the fabric of her skirt as her pride roots her to the spot and stills her into silence. Lady, however, does not prove as obedient and instead pads forward to his side, looking up at him with her large golden eyes, wounded where her mistress refuses to be as the both of them continue down the hall away from Alayne.
She whimpers once, questioningly at him. (Lady would always express what Alayne would not; the direwolf was more part of her than anyone knew.) ]