The red maiden sat in the icy caverns among the rocks, ice, and scarce snow. She breathed in the fresh smells, the crisp air; she loved the cold weather, being born and raised in the North. She thrived best in snow. She loved to hear it crunch beneath her paws, stare at its glittering white beauty. She was a rose of the North. Daughter of the trout and the direwolf. A Stark.
And Sansa’s sister-in-law was a Targaryen. Sansa’s nephews were Targaryen and Stark. What a strange family they were, molded from members of two enemy families . . . but she supposed it was preferable to conflict, war, and enmity.
She often thought of Margaery. Was Sansa’s sort-of friend okay? Had she survived long enough to get to safety in a pack? And she hoped Primrose was well. She hoped that somewhere, Nanala was safe . . . even if she wasn’t in Starfall.

“The worst ones always come back.”