Wilting ♞ Sandor Clegane

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THEY HAD GONE back to the Quiet Isle anyway. Someone had to break the news of what happened to Brother Ray and the villagers to the Elder Brother. And if the two of them were to go off hunting the three estranged members of the Brotherhood then they needed supplies. Though the residents of the Isle did not condone violence or the pursuit of revenge, they made no attempt to stop them from traveling down that path.

Brother Narbert had offered the pair Stranger before she and Sandor were to set out at low tide. Sandor wouldn't take the horse. His leg, though mended, was still a nuisance and wouldn't take the pressure of dismounting the large warhorse. They would do this on foot, even if it would take longer.

Anya struck a piece of flint, sparks fluttered down. The small pile of twigs and kindling caught flame, slowly she added larger pieces of wood until it would last them through the night. Dancing in the fire was the faces of all the people she had come to know that had been slaughtered. For the briefest of moments, she swore Benjen was among them. That sight was what stirred her from such dark thoughts. She pulled the old black cloak around her and looked over to where Sandor sat, sharpening the edges of two axes.

"Beric Dondarrion would have never condoned that raid." Sandor looked up at her sudden outburst. She knew Beric. Ned knew Beric. He was a good man, sent to protect the innocent from Gregor Clegane. "I don't believe Thoros would either." Despite the priest's pension for drinking and fighting, he served the Red God faithfully. "They're not butchers."

Sandor snorted. "I don't care what those two bloody deserters would or wouldn't have done. This fight ain't with them." Anya frowned but understood and turned over on her bedroll, her back to the fire.

Two days passed before there were even the faintest signs that they were following the right trail. He knelt next to a ring of charred earth. Anya did as well and pressed her fingers to the ground. The soot was slick and potent. "We're getting closer."

She and Sandor found their camp early the next day. Both of them recognized two of men as those who had attacked the village. There were four of them in total though, gathered around the dying embers of fire from the previous night. Sandor tightened his grip on the axe handle and started forward, but Anya saw the bow lying near one of the men and the swords that were at their sides. She pressed her hand against his chest and stopped him in his tracks. "Allow me." Anya smiled, a dark glint in her grey eyes. Sandor huffed, but nodded, letting her go about this her way.

Anya worked up a breathless pant and purposely tripped before reaching the men. Her frantic attempts to stand again earned a mirthless laugh from Sandor and a daunting whistle from the stray members of the Brotherhood. "Would you look at this boys?! Our luck's turning 'round!" She pulled on one of the young men's arm and looked around like a frightened doe, a role she played well. "Please-" came the gasping start "-you must help me, there's a man following me. He wants my head." Anya gently pushed them in the direction Sandor would come from.

Through the open path among the trees, there was no movement only a light fog from the early morning that had yet to lift. "I'd want a lot more than your head if I were him." The bald one said with a salacious grin. Gatnis she thought was his name. Anya smirked as she saw Sandor's shadowed figure approaching. None of them had a chance to run.

Dark Sister was freed from its sheath and plunged into the foot of one of the men. He screamed out, cursing both her and the gods, but the cries didn't last long as she dragged the edge of the blade across his neck. Blood coated the sword, and the body fell to the ground, twitching for a few seconds. Sandor had made do with two of them, leaving only one that had attacked the sept and village with the point of Anya's sword at his throat.

Gatnis was foolish and assured death when he managed to wrangle his sword from its sheath. Sandor swung his axe between the man's legs to which he let out a high pitch yelp. "Where's the other one? The one with the yellow cloak?"