She watched with envy. She watched with a throat that ached and with lips that were chapped and she nearly thought to follow him down the rooted and rocky incline. Caution stayed her step and then -- and then -- he held out his hand and if the moment had been under different circumstances she might have smiled. Instead, she put her fingers 'round his wrist and held on tight while her heels stepped (and sometimes skidded) down to the water's edge.

His support allowed her to merely perch on the last bit of solid ground before the water. Her skirt-hem started to soak, but her toes were dry. And she crouched -- her one hand still a vice on his -- so she might gather water with the other. She drank four full palms before standing straight. Sansa dabbed at her lips with the inside of her arm.

"Today, this tastes sweeter than honeyed ice milk."