Sansa stared at the fight in front of her, at the blood that was spattering the floor and ceiling, and was backing away even as Lady through herself at the ogre, as Sandor wrenched the blade from the monster's hand that was human sized. She kept backing up, her heart in her throat until it went for Sandor's throat, until he pushed it off so it's teeth found his shoulder, and she screamed again - only to be struck with blinding pain, the her eyes wide as she realised that there was a dirty, bloody arrow that had sprung from her shoulder. She hadn't been watching - it must have come from the shorter monster that Alistair was fighting, and all the sound in her throat died as she kept walking backwards, as her back finally pressed against a pillar and she tried to reach for it with shaking hands, but every time she touched it pain shot through her body.

She was sobbing, curling herself into a ball as she couldn't watch, couldn't watch them fight and die, sliding to the ground as her sweatshirt slowly soaked with blood, her fingers red with it.