,,
Sansa instinct made her lift her hand and cup his cheek with her fingers. The room was too dark for her to see him, but she could feel the stickiness of the blood, and a wetness that was no blood. “Little bird,” he said once more, his voice raw and harsh as steel on stone. Then he rose from the bed.
Sansa Stark and The Hound (A Clash of Kings, George R.R. Martin)