A great chorus of wolves howled their refrain. There was something unnatural about the sound, and the ceaseless din grated on Sandor's nerves as the night wore on. Something was not right, he could sense it; he felt as though someone was in the room with him, hiding in the shadows.

Silently he rolled out of bed and crouched on the floor, his fighting knife between his teeth.

"Come out, you son of a whore. Show yourself and I'll give you a clean death." Sandor snarled as he frantically searched their rooms. But he found no one in the room, and nothing disturbed.

Extraordinarily, the clamor began resonating in his ears like the clashing of symbols, and dispersed throughout his body. The sound awakened something primal within Sandor, both terrifying and yet somehow reassuring to the man. Whatever the future held, he was damned sure he was ready.

What the fuck is going on? Sandor returned to the bed, rolling over onto his side and spooning Sansa against his chest. It must be a dream. Too much of the sour tonight. In the morning this will all go away.

Before long the wolf bitch's pet added her voice to the song whilst scratching the door, the animal's behavior unsettling Sandor further still. Heat radiated through him as though emanating from within him, adding to his misery. Restless, he alternated between mopping his brow and tossing beneath Sansa, who strangely seemed undisturbed by his state. This has to be a buggering dream.

His ears pricked as Arya's door clicked open. The great beast's long claws scratched along the stone flooring in the hall, then paused outside. She was whining softly, snuffling under the door.

Arya should have kept that damned direwolf inside. Letting go of the breath he was holding, Sandor gazed down at Sansa, who continued to slumber peacefully in his arms. Carefully he pulled her on top of his chest; it made him feel better to have her body on his own, skin on skin, even though their combined heat made him hotter still. Moaning softly, Sansa snuggled down into him in response, her breathing slow and deep, each exhalation warming his skin and tickling the hair on his chest.

Never was she more beautiful than in sleep, and though many months had passed since their wedded day, Sandor still could not resist watching her, could not resist touching her and feeling her at every opportunity. Tenderly he stroked the length of her hair. Does her wolf blood have something to do with this feeling of mine? Of the restlessness of the direwolf?

The little bird looked so peaceful, that Sandor began to wonder if perhaps the wolf song was a good omen from the queer northern gods that the Starks worshipped.

Still, it was unusual for any forest sound to disturb him in this manner. He spent most of his youth camping in the woodlands with the Baratheon host. But dogs and wolves were scarce in those days and the large animals that remained stayed silent; and in his opinion, they showed greater intelligence for doing so than many of the human inhabitants of the land. And never before had their sounds echoed in his mind and body.

Sandor heard a large group of wolves raising their voice to the moon for the first time during the long Baratheon trek to the ancient seat of House Stark.

The sound frightened the horses and knights alike.

But Robert had merely taken a long swallow of ale, tossed the empty horn onto his sleeping furs, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and chuckled darkly, "What do any of you buggering cowards know of wolves?"

"I know for certain that wolves don't howl in the daylight, my liege. This isn't natural, and mayhap a portent from the old gods; we must be cautious," Barristan Selmy gravely answered.

Robert merely dismissed him with a scalding glare and a wave of the hand, but Sandor knew the old knight was as smart as he was deadly, and his assessment gave him pause.

Sandor trusted the animal's instincts, for dogs and wolves stayed true to their nature, unlike the treacherous highborns he served. Time had proven that the antiquated warrior indeed had the right of it, for even a nonbeliever like Clegane could not deny the primordial song from the northern wolves served as an uncanny warning to their human counterpart kin in Winterfell.

Regrettably for the little bird's middle brother, the beast's portentous howls went unheeded by Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn. Sandor could still hear the boy's pet ominously calling to his young master after the accident; it likewise had set everyone's teeth on edge.

Sandor recognized this wolf song as the otherworldly forewarning that it was, and where the Starks had failed to act, Sandor resolved that he would not. He had no buggering honor to burden him, no bloody titles to encumber him, no king breathing down his neck. They were in a fight for their lives and he was the vicious dog of his sigil; he would do whatever it took to keep his family safe. A deep sense of satisfaction flowed through him then, and eventually Sandor succumbed to sleep.

The hour of the wolf brought change in Sansa; she began writhing, crying out and murmuring, her exertions lively enough to awaken him. The sheets clung to her, soaked through with her sweat and yet her forehead felt cool to the touch.

Despite Sandor's efforts, Sansa refused to awaken from her fitful slumber. Cold panic took hold of the man. After pulling a bed gown over her nude form, Sandor summoned the Elder brother and Arya. Gendry roused Jory, and they too joined them.

Keeping one eye on the holy man examining his young wife, Sandor paced the room like a caged animal, running his hand through his hair and cursing under his breath, his already limited patience long spent.

"What sort of sickness was this, holy man? Can you help her?"

Elder brother remained silent.

"Speak up! I've travelled to the Wall and back and I sure as fuck have never seen the like of it before."

"Be silent. I need to measure her heartbeat." The holy man pressed his index and middle fingers to the base of Sansa's neck. Agitated, her eyes rolled back and forth beneath darkened lids.

"It is no illness, my lord, I assure you." He said after a short pause. "Your lady appears to be held in a trance of some sort."

Arya chewed her thumbnail and patted her foot. "Did you give her a draught?"

"Fuck off, wolf bitch!" Sandor snarled in her face. "This is not my fault!"

"I'm not saying it is. " Arya wearily answered. "I just remember Maester Luwin saying that sometimes medicine has unexpected side effects."

"And he was right, but this is not from a medicine."

Sandor turned to Elder Brother. "Is this some Northern religious shite? Mayhap something to do with all those fucking wolves outside?"

"It's possible but I cannot know for certain. I'm not familiar with the workings of the old gods, as you Northerners call them." Turning to Arya, he asked: "Did your maester or your father ever mention such to you, my lady?"

"Well, they never called it a trance. But all Starks are wolf-blooded and we all have wolf dreams."

"Even Jon?" Gendry uneasily probed.

"Of course! He's my brother isn't he?" Arya scowled at him. "And Ghost is with him."

"So you have these…dreams, as well?" Sandor weakly questioned, for the very thought of his delicate wife enduring such a thing sickened him.

"Oh yes, I have wolf dreams." Arya smiled thoughtfully. "In fact, I had a wolf dream last night, and she was with me."

"Explain this wolf dream, as you call it." Elder brother took out a scroll and quill and began writing.

"Well, it's a really vivid kind of dream." Arya fidgeted with the edge of her sleeping gown. "It feels like you are awake, and at first you think you are. In my dreams I run with my brothers, smell the dirt and leaves and hunt, too. And I can track the soldiers." She inadvertently shivered. "I smelled the foxes and hunted prey alongside Nymeria."

"Her direwolf pet." Sandor explained when Elder brother quirked his brow.

"You mean you experience everything that she does?"

"Oh yes," Arya smiled dreamily as her gaze lifted toward the ceiling. "I roll in the dead leaves to scratch my back. I take long drinks from icy cold rivers. I fight and play with my brothers there, too."

"Wolves and dogs too; right pup?"

Arya nodded emphatically.

Sandor cleared his throat. "Her brothers and mine."

"Father, Robb, Bran and Rickon are also similarly gifted, too," the girl continued, "but I'm not sure about Sansa."

Jory met Arya's eyes and shook his head slowly.

Sandor watched the exchange with a sick sinking in the pit of his stomach, and he immediately knew then.

"She lost her wolf, Lady." Jory reluctantly explained. "That Lannister bitch had her killed. But the queen did not keep her pelt. Your father wouldn't allow it. At his command, I took her bones and pelt and hid them in my bags, to return them to your ancestral home."

Arya gasped: "You mean, you have Lady with you?"

"Aye," he nodded, "I am ordered to keep her with me until I can bury her in Winterfell in the lichyard."

"No wonder Nymeria cried for you and Sansa! She smells her sister." Tenderly she patted Sansa's legs. "Mayhap Lady is speaking to Sansa even now. We mustn't disturb them." Arya commented dreamily.

Sandor stiffened to hear Jory's exact words repeated to him in the voice of Sansa's sister.

"I'll bet Lady is with the Kings of Winter, laying at their feet and watching over Sansa." Arya went on.

Elder brother gestured to Jory. "Have you ever experienced such a thing, my lord?"

Uneasily Jory glanced between Sandor and Arya. "In a manner of sorts, yes."

"Why didn't you protect me and Sansa in the South, then?" Arya asked sharply, her grey eyes fixed on him. "You could have helped our father. You could have saved him, or helped him save himself!"

"Your father and I tried very hard, but the magic of the old gods is weak in the south. Probably because there are few heart trees and fewer worshippers of the old gods. And that is also why your grandfather and uncle could not be saved from Aerys as well."

Sandor knew the story well enough. The little bird's Uncle Brandon had been twenty when he died, strangled by order of the Mad King Aerys Targaryen only a few short days before he was to wed Catelyn Tully. His father had been forced to watch him die. He was the true heir, the eldest, born to rule.

"Bugger that. Sansa kept up her prayers. The gods ignored her. In fact, the little bird worshipped enough for ten northerners while she was in the Red Keep, more than anyone I ever saw. She was good and they left her to the lions." Sandor snarled low.

"Clegane-"

Slowly Sandor inched toward Jory and the Elder brother. "Tell me: where were your bloody gods when Joffrey had her beaten? When she was attacked during the bread riots? Where were they all the nights I guarded her door and heard her sobbing herself to sleep? How could they remain deaf to her prayers?"

"I know you're angry with them, Hound. Sometimes I am, too." Arya slowly nodded and then turned to the elder man. "Last night, Sansa was with me in my dreams. She was a wolf, and had a beautiful red pelt and blue eyes, which is really rare. She was much bigger than Lady had ever been, but still small, too small really, to be-"

"A direwolf?" Sandor rolled his eyes. "What buggering difference does that make?"

"She looked – and smelled – like she was, well, part dog, part wolf." Arya sniffed Sandor, and nodded to herself.

Jory raised his brows. "A wolf dog?"

"Yes," she chose her words carefully, "and she smelled, well, like the Hound."

"Wolves and dogs have mated before, it's possible…" his words faded as he laid eyes on Sandor. "Is she-? "

Recognition hit both men at once. House Clegane. Three dogs on a yellow field. Sansa…

"I saw the bond between King Robb and his direwolf first hand." Lady Brienne entered the room, interrupting them. "It's definitely feasible that Lady Sansa and her direwolf are similarly joined. Clegane too might be involved."

"I would hope so," Jory glanced toward Sandor. "He is her husband, after all."

With great difficulty, Sandor forced himself to remain calm. He could smell the fear and confusion in the lady knight, could hear her pulse racing in his ears.

"How is she?" Brienne smiled awkwardly as she studied the two men.

"Same." Sandor spoke through gritted teeth.

"Perhaps the connection between Lady Sansa and her wolf transcends death. Mayhap it transcends species." Brienne offered quietly. "We needs wait and see."

"Anything is possible now. The return of the Targaryen dragons has changed the natural order of every living thing. The strength of the magic in the realm has reached an intensity the seven kingdoms has not experienced for three hundred years," Elder brother sighed deeply, "but be that as it may, I am at as loss as to how to help Lady Sansa through this, and unwilling to wait for her to awaken and tell us."

Wolf and dog together. Wolf dog. Sansa smelled like a wolf dog, not a direwolf. Bugggering hells…

The air suddenly escaped Sandor's lungs. "To what extent will this strange connection continue to develop?" He eventually choked out with difficulty.

"We…we aren't sure…"

Roughly Sandor gripped Jory's placket. "Answer me true: what does all this mean for my Sansa? If you hold anything back, I'll slit your throat and feed you to those damned wolves outside!"

"Clegane, you're a Westerman. You cannot understand this, and besides we are sworn not to share this with anyone-"

Sandor wrapped his huge hands around Jory's neck and began to squeeze. "Tell me you little shit or die, one."

"Sandor is part of our pack now. He has a right to know, Jory. Gendry and Elder Brother and Lady Brienne are also part of our pack." Arya insisted, pulling the men apart. "As your lady, I say it is necessary to speak of it this time, and I know Father would agree. Tell him everything, Jory. Leave nothing out."