@clawedbear : cont. from here.
𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐒 𝐀 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐆𝐀𝐙𝐄 𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — snow muddied with footprints. stone walls that promise nothing. he wishes such a poor and sorry expanse could mean something to his own lungs. it doesn't. he inhales and then exhales all the same.
a light in his eyes sparks something blue and bleeding throughout his chest. a disease , more or less. the free folk have such affects. something new and foreign and he wouldn't let it get too far beyond his own veins. he rolls his eyes , finding in himself some means to react. visage some wasted breathe in the woods.
❝ and what about you , wilding? ❞ sandor says. question trilling in the cracks of his own voice. he is both some hard thing to analyze and also something quite easy to read. ❝ is death an acquaintance or are you just some sorry excuse of a fighter? ❞