Minisa pouted, her round, child-like face looking even more young when she did so. Twelve years old already… was it not just yesterday that he held that squalling babe in his arms?
There was soft chirping in the background, distracting his daughter from her anger, thankfully. The little girl looked up in the trees, trying to locate the sound. Fortunately she was easily distracted from said anger, unlike her mother. That woman remembered everything he said that upset her and never let it go.
“It’s so beautiful,” she whispered. “Such little birds singing in the trees. I wonder where they’re at.”
The nickname for his wife hit him like fist in the gut. The look on Minisa’s face reminded him so much of Sansa in that moment. Little birds singing… Before he could stop himself, his mind went somewhere dark. Wasn’t Sansa the same age when he stole that song from her? Bile rose up in the back of his throat at the thought and anger flooded him. His sweet daughter, barely old enough to think for herself. When her mother was the same age, he had held her at knife point and forced her to sing for him as he thought of how her soft teats would feel pressed against his bare chest.
“Father?” Nisa asked, worry on her face.
Sandor stalked off, too disgusted with himself to speak. If any man touched his daughter in that way, he would cleave them to pieces. Rip them apart bare handed even. If any man even thought of his Minisa that way… he growled in anger, before it quickly turned to horror. Minisa was too young. Too young.