#*tarth

She had last seen snow the day she'd left Winterfell. That was a lighter fall than this, she remembered. Robb had melting flakes in his hair when he hugged me, and the snowball Arya tried to make kept coming apart in her hands. It hurt to remember how happy she had been that morning. Hullen had helped her mount, and she'd ridden out with the snowflakes swirling around her, off to see the great wide world. I thought my song was beginning that day, but it was almost done.

Arya Stark in season one: Sansa can keep her sewing needles. I've got a Needle of my own.

Brave. Sansa took a deep breath. I am a Stark, yes, I can be brave. 

When you’re old enough, I’ll make you a match with someone who is worthy of you. Someone who is brave and gentle and strong.

Swift as a deer. Quiet as a shadow. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Quick as a snake. Calm as still water.

The stone is strong… The roots of the trees grow deep, and under the ground the Kings of Winter sit their thrones. So long as those remained, Winterfell remained. It was not dead, just broken. Like me… I’m not dead either.

The wolf is of the North. She deserves better than a butcher.