[Gods be good, this cannot be so. She stares, even with the door hanging open. Unable to move, it takes effort to even speak. Sansa thought her dead, and while she is older and rougher, there is no mistaking that the slight girl in front of her is, indeed, Arya Stark.]
Your hair! [It is a silly thing to say, even more so as the first thing to say to her, but once she speaks, her senses come back to her. Pushing the door closed behind her, the dark haired girl returns back to her sister. It is slow at first, and while they argued and fought for most of their lives, to have her near again.]
You are really here. [It isn't a question, though she is unsure of it. But Arya is alive. Her hands curl at her sides before she's moving to wrap them around her. It is emotion born from relief, from familiarity.]
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Your hair! [It is a silly thing to say, even more so as the first thing to say to her, but once she speaks, her senses come back to her. Pushing the door closed behind her, the dark haired girl returns back to her sister. It is slow at first, and while they argued and fought for most of their lives, to have her near again.]
You are really here. [It isn't a question, though she is unsure of it. But Arya is alive. Her hands curl at her sides before she's moving to wrap them around her. It is emotion born from relief, from familiarity.]