bloodiedwolf.

       a faint, muted sniff of breath pulls in through
       arya’s nostrils — pine resin, she thinks, and
       the faintest hint of snows to come, and for a
       split second something in her chest aches —
       after a fashion of acknowledgment ; her taking
       his hand is somewhat belated, as though torn
       between wanting touch and abhorring it, but
       when her fingers greet his palm they’re steady,
       callused, if only fleeting in the contact, a clasp
       more than a shake, there and then gone.

        ‘why’re you out here all by yourself?’

          he feels as if he’s accomplished something when she 
          shakes his hand, that maybe she wasn’t as scared or
          intimidated by him than he first assumed, that thought
          alone brings him some relief. her query brings large
          shoulders to rise for a brief moment, stalling to keep
          the real reason he’d be out so late

        ❛ just needed to get some air. ‶ she didn’t need to get
            involved with werewolf business. 

        ❛ —- was thinkin’ about getting a late night snack, do
            you want to join me? ‶