for a moment, sansa feels off - balance; pulled in two opposing directions by the rope upon which she dangles precariously. it is the weakness of hesitation, the breath that stalls in her sternum before it is released. it's a subject she had willingly breached, and yet now she is uncertain. the dilemma of trust. their lives are already in the dragon queen's hands, a feat that after many weeks of counsel and planning, she does believe her intentions of honoring. but something as personal as her dreams, the world as she sees it through her direwolf's eyes . . . daenerys' expression is patient, earnest, and the stark weakly grasps onto a mental reminder that they are not only allies but friends. at least, she hopes.
❝ they are . . . difficult to explain, ❞ she begins with a slight frown, pressing her hands together in her lap, the unconscious motion of fingertips over knuckles a self - soothing habit. sansa has shared little even with jon, the one who seems to understand it the most, as they ever so rarely have the time to speak of anything other than survival nowadays. ❝ at least, in a way that still clings somewhat to reality. i'm afraid they are nothing of the sort. ❞ it's an experimental venture. daenerys has fire in her blood, magic in her birthright, but this is still different. and sansa is used to being careful.
"...I'm not done telling you all the things that I wanted to say; there's still so much. It's been so long since anyone listened to me talk. Won't you stay?"