[Her fingers are good and strong, even if they are slender, and when they toy with the crude knife, Bran thinks of Arya. He worries for her, too, a sharp and pricking worry that stings very much like a knife--but he must not despair. He can help. That must be known.
There is strength in her words as much as in her fingers, and he squeezes her hand. He looks to her white raven, and he looks to Summer, and then he looks to his sister.]
I would not have to leave. [He told her of his wolf dreams, but this is more than dreams, and he must tell her now. He grips her hand.]
;~~; FLIES TO ARMS WARGISHLY
There is strength in her words as much as in her fingers, and he squeezes her hand. He looks to her white raven, and he looks to Summer, and then he looks to his sister.]
I would not have to leave. [He told her of his wolf dreams, but this is more than dreams, and he must tell her now. He grips her hand.]
Sansa-- I could be Lady. I could bring her back.