She nodded -- emphatic; enthusiastic. And why wouldn't she be? Sansa loved to speak of Winterfell. She sopped up that nostalgia like a thirsty sponge, puffing out her chest with the pride knowledge of having been raised in a vaunted castle. A place, she thought, of prestige. She was happy with her home, though not happy that she'd lost it.

"Otherwise we could grow very little in long winters -- the glass gardens stay so warm. Almost like summer, I'm told."