Sansa sits by the window with her sewing materials now that Septa Mordane has left her for a short while. Jeyne talks about something of little consequence, and Sansa looks outside, down where the men are training. Cheeks aglow she watches the spar. Her younger sister's rude snickers interrupt her. Sana's head whirls around and she throws a glare to young Arya. "What has you so amused?" Her rude tone, one that she does not dare use with anyone but Arya, quietens Jeyne.

"At least I can speak around him without stuttering," Arya taunts and then bolts out of the room without so much as a glance backwards. That is good, for Sansa looks to be in a rage at her sister's words.

What makes it all worse is that Arya is not wrong on this. Sansa sighs and looks once more outside. Her eyes are drawn to Willas Tyrell as they often are. "Oh, Jeyne, I wish he would notice me." It all started innocently enough, Sansa recounts. Willas came from the South to squire at Winterfell, and after being knighted he chose to stay on awhile longer. He is kind and gallant and he always seems to have a smile for Ned Stark's daughters. And it is exactly that to bother Sansa. Willas makes no difference between herself and Arya or Jeyne. Indeed it seems that in his eyes all three are children still. "I am almost a woman grown, Jeyne. Why will he not look at me?"

"I am sure he does," Jeyne tells her softly, giggling. "But you know Willas, he is nothing if not proper. Perhaps you ought to speak to your grandfather about this." How silly a thought! And tell her grandfather what exactly? That she wishes her father's former squire would give her more than a passing smile? "Do not fret, Sansa. Better yet, tell me again, is the King really coming here?"

"Aye, and he brings with him my aunt, Queen Lyanna, and Jon will he here too." Sansa smiles knowingly at Jeyne. "Rhaegon and Aeron, of course, will be here as well, and the Kingsguard, and half the court, if father is right in his predictions." The thought of seeing her aunt again bring Sansa much joy. If there is anyone who could help her, it is Lyanna Targaryen for sure. "I'm so excited."

"Me too!" Jeyne agreed. "Just think, all the ladies and lords, the knights and the feast! I am still in awe. And we can finally meet little Princess Alysanna." The last of her aunt's brood, Alysanna Targaryen is just a shade older than Arya, both older than with Bran. Sansa just hopes she will be as demure as her mother, else she thinks she may cry. Just the chance of Arya finding an accomplice for her heinous behaviour leaves Sansa with a bad aftertaste in her mouth.

"I'm sure she is lovely," Sansa agrees, but her mind has taken her elsewhere. Aunt Lyanna has told her the last time she visited that Sansa needs only name her wish and she, as Queen, will see it done. Little Sansa prays that those words hold true, for she does not think she'll ever find a man like Willas Tyrell were she looks all over the realm. Can they not hurry, though?
Septa Mordane returns, her expression as sullen as ever. It takes her but a beat to notice the youngest Stark girl had left once more. "Where is Arya? Is she hiding again?"

"She left not a long while ago," Sansa explains, setting her hands in her lap. "I rather think she has gone to the stables again." Her little sister has an unnatural love for horses.

Jeyne leans over and whispers only for Sansa's ears when the Septa rushes out the door, "It is after all the place for horses, the stable." And the two laugh heartily.

With her Tully looks, Sansa is nothing if not pretty. She has her mother's auburn hair and those incredibly blue eyes, wide and clear, her frame dainty but tall and regal. In contrast, Arya is small, her hair dark, her eyes the colour of an angered sky. The youngest of Ned's daughters has the face of a horse, if Sansa may say so herself. "I do not know who she resembles. I fear someone may have stolen my sister and replaced her."

Despite her words, Sansa is fond of her siblings, even of Arya. Aye, they fight and call one another names and pull each other's hair, but they are sisters. Relaxing, Sansa leans against her seat. There is much excitement for the upcoming visit of the King and Queen. Sansa knows, from uncle Benjen's stories, that the Starks are closely bonded. Why she remembers that even uncle Bradon, father's older brother, will be coming. This uncle she does not know so well. The Master of Moat Cailin, they call him. He is a widower since the last winters, which was a few years back, and since the death of his wife, he has kept to himself.

Robb storms in the room, scaring the two young girls. He grins boyishly at them, but his attention is more upon Sansa. "You'll never believe what we've found, sister. Come see!" He looks at Jeyne then. "You father is looking for you, Jeyne. He said to let you know if I saw you."

Following Robb, Sansa tries not to trip of the hem of her skirts when she accidentally steps upon them. Luckily for her, balance has always been one of her attributes. As it turns out, what Robb has found is a litter of direwolves. Small, gray creatures, all but one which is in the hands of her father. "There are two females and three males."

"Where is their mother?" Sansa asks, worried all of a sudden. Clearly they are but pups, they need a mother.

"Injured," comes her reply from father. Eddard looks to the wolf in his arms, scrawny and white.

"Oh, father! Do save her. Please! Please!" Sansa has never taken the suffering of beasts well. "Can master Luwin not save her?" And Ned Stark having never been able to deny anything to his daughter slowly nods his head. Sansa gives him a brilliant smile. "Thank you, father!"