Sansa barely recognized the girl across from her as her younger sister; the wild, savage girl she hadn't seen for nearly eight years. She was taller than Sansa, now, lanky and long-limbed, her skin bronzed, her expression blank and unreadable as she stared down at her older sister. There was something regal about her bearing, a confidence and grace that certainly hadn't been there before.

And there was something else she recognized, from the time she'd spent with the Hound – an air of coldness, a willingness to kill. Sansa realized that, oddly, she'd always known it was there.

She swallowed, and it took a moment to find her voice. "…Arya?"

Her expression was still impassive. Sansa wrapped her arms around herself, feeling nervous all over again. Arya had never liked her at all. She seemed to like her even less now. Her younger sister showed no signs of recognizing her name, simply staring at Sansa, her dark eyes fathomless.

Sansa opened her arms hesitantly, wondering if her sister would even allow her a hug. She wanted to go and fling her arms around the one relative she'd seen in so long, perhaps her only sibling left, but she was afraid Arya would hurt her.

Arya looked at her for several long moments with the same blank expression. Then she said something Sansa didn't quite understand. "When the wind blows cold," she said, quietly, "The lone wolf dies. But the pack survives."

Sansa opened her mouth to ask, but her younger sister – her older sister? Arya seemed much older than she had been – was hugging her, abruptly, crushing the air out of her lungs, and Sansa broke down and started crying on her sister's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she said through her tears, "I'm sorry, I was horrible to you, but we're all that's left, now-"

"Oh, shut up," said Arya, harshly, and Sansa closed her mouth before she was aware of doing it, and hiccupped. "We'll be all right now," and even though Sansa knew it was a lie, she believed it when Arya said it. Because when Arya said it, it sounded true.