@dutyhnr ⠀ “ we all follow orders, lady fish,”⠀ he said. the hound raised his good eye to her, and for half a heartbeat he thought he might laugh. he didn’t.
“ and don’t call me ' ser.' i’m none of that. ”
⠀ the memory of their earlier quarrel stirred as he pulled the northern coat tighter about his shoulders. it was not his, but it kept the cold from his bones. he glanced at @dutyhnr.
“ got the coat, ” he said. “ like you told me. ” >
@dutyhnr ⠀ the wind bit through wool and leather alike. the cloak took the edge off, nothing more.
the woman waited for an answer, as if she were owed one. the hound had no taste for explanations. >
⠀ satin ate as though he feared the bowl might vanish if he stopped. every greedy mouthful set sandor’s teeth on edge. he ought to have left the little fool hungry. >
⠀
" i'm very obviously neither . " he grumbles , but takes the spoon either way — eagerly dipping it into the broth and bringing it to his mouth .
satin 𝘮𝘰𝘢𝘯𝘴 around a mouthful of tender , fatty rabbit . scoops up a chunk of turnip . gasps delighted upon
⠀⠀
⠀ his gaze drifted to the ship. ⠀ golden gale ⠀ better than most. at least the fool who named her hadn’t chosen something like ⠀Sea Demon ⠀ . men did love to dress fear up in fancy words and awful calls. >
“ 𝙙𝙧𝙞𝙛𝙩𝙬𝙤𝙤𝙙 .ᐣ ” his voice pitched up in annoyance. “ first of all 、 her name is the golden gale. and she is the finest ship on the seas 、 so have some respect. ”
he stared up at the giant of a man 、 challenge glinting in his +
⠀ “ what, are you blind or missing a hand? ” he growled, rapping the spoon against the bowl. “ look for yourself. rabbit. roots. greens. eat around what you don’t like—
⠀
satin gazed on , and . . . well . waited . mildly despairing 'til the ten minute mark , when he let his head rest against crossed arms on the table's crummy surface , shedding a few more tears for the cruel abandonment .
. . . when the bowl rattled before him ,
⠀⠀
⠀ salt stung his nose. the sea always smelled foul to him, all brine and rot, as if the tide couldn’t wash away the stink of dead fish no matter how often it tried.
“ ironborn, ” he said, more to himself than the man. >
⠀ he looked back once before slipping through the door, muttering curses fit for every god ever worshipped. fine work for the hound. chasing rabbits, scratching up wilted greens, stirring a pot like some old cook. >
⠀
the benches aren't * soft at all , so he winces , the impact rattling him whole . satin bites his lip , still in a pout . refrains from speaking 'cause the tears are still too fresh .
nods .
⠀⠀
⠀
satin howls , taken aback by the sheer strength . air knocked out of his lungs , kept upright mostly by the hand at his skull .
one last , pitiful little sniffle .
" . . . yes . "
⠀⠀