He grunted in reply, still sitting cross-legged on the dirty ground like the dog he was.
She appeared from behind a great fir tree, her flaming hair still visible even in the dark. Sansa shivered visibly as she walked toward him, her hand outstretched to him in offering as if he was a scared animal. It was something she had done often, now that he thought about it.
“My love, what are you doing out here? You scared Minisa out of her wits and Eddard tried to escape from his room through the window so he could find you!” she huffed. Sandor assumed she was distressed by the sheer amount of energy their young son had. She kneeled next to him, smoothing his haggard hair back from his face revealing it scars and all before she laid a kiss upon his scarred brow. “What is it?”
The more she asked, the more he felt that darkness from his past creep up on him. Her sweet, tender kiss to his disgusting ruined flesh is what did him in. He jerked away from her, a growl ripped from his chest.
“Don’t,” he growled again between grit teeth. The hurt look on his Little Bird’s face made him beat himself up even more.
Didn’t she see? Didn’t she see what he was? Why he tried so hard to push her from him? He was nothing. Meaningless -- a lowly dog. He had hurt her so many times. Said horrible things to her and… he cringed at the thought of the battle of Blackwater. Flashes of feeling from that night: anger, fear, elation, lust.