She was stuck somewhere between wanting to cry and wanting to shout. It wasn't until this very second that she had realized how wholly she'd begun to doubt Arya's survival. Piece by piece, she'd been grieving for her without any formal announcement of death. She'd come to assume...

"She always did look boyish," Sansa murmured. Again, she avoided the name. And again, she tried to maintain the veil of a distant acquaintance. "And behaved boyishly, too."