━ in which; Sansa Stark, Queen in the North, receives a raven from across the sea, speaking of how her dear sister had come into contact with another race of people from the mysterious, rumoured magic of the sea on Arya's desire to answer the age o...
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"Sansa! Get the fuck down." The deep bellow rang up through the trees, easily carrying across the clearing. Sansa shook her head, finger nails digging into the hard, pale bark of the Weirwood.
She was perched fairly high within the branches of the tree, like a bird. The woman sat fairly close to the trunk of the tree, its thick forelimbs creating havens for sparrows and robins and finches. There was a nest a bit above her head, and it made the red haired woman smile up at the mother bird nestled within it, warming her eggs. Sansa glanced back down to the ground. It seemed so far away, the men upon it looked almost like ants.
It had taken them an almost comically long time to finally spot her, the only sign of her presence being her cloak, neatly folded upon the roots of the tree, at the sacred alter of the old gods. Sansa had revealed herself with a laugh, and upon the resounding, shocked upward look, and half second of them remaining un-seeing, perhaps she had grown a little too pale, her hair a little too red. For she blended in with the living connection to the earth, to the gods.
"No thank you, I'm happy up here!" She called out in reply. She was almost euphoric, she felt renewed, childlike, even. As if climbing something childishly had called to her family, the slightest whisper of the wind had her hearing the laughter of Rickon and Bran and Arya as all of them ran from Theon and Jon, playing knights and dragons. The gentle caress of scarlet leaves was like her mother's gentle hand upon her cheeks, the scent of them that of fresh fallen snow. The crown of flowers rested gently upon her skull, the sweet scents merging with the leaves to remind her of the summer.
"This is the second time we've had to hunt you down, soon you will face repercussions. Get down," Blue eyes stared down at them, unblinking, they met another set of blue and a set of grey. Each of them seemed fairly agitated, Ragnar's arms folded across his chest. Whilst Floki sat in a low squat, fingers trailing the faint patterns, like veins in the bark. Ragnar glared up at the young woman upon the branch and glared slightly, his tone a growl of warning, "Sansa."
"Go fuck yourself. Can you not just leave me be?" She barked, baring her teeth. Blue eyes glared back with a wolfish bite to her tone, "It's not like I'm going to run away. Can I not spend a few hours in the presence of my father's gods without having a search party sent?"
Floki blinked, as did Ragnar, however, the lanky man let out a jovial giggle. Ragnar shot him an exasperated look, he sobered accordingly. He cleared his throat, hand pulling out a long dagger from its hilt. Sansa felt her face drop. He pointed at her with the knife, she brought her knees up onto the branch with her, as though he'd be able to cut her with it from such a distance. "I swear to Odin, girl. I will cut this tree down and turn it into a boat if you are so attached to it."
