Sandor sank slowly in the worn leather couch on the porch of his cabin, taking a long swig from the bottle in his hands he leant backwards into the familiar softness and heard the creaks and groans of the worn out springs as they adjusted to his weight. Letting out a sigh of pleasure Sandor looking ahead gazing at the rolling pastures ahead of him and the seemingly endless expanse of sky that was slowly fading from the pinks and oranges of the sunset into the blues of dusk. Sandor had lived in this cabin and stared at the same Vista for over 10 years now and it never failed to amaze him as he watched the sky work its mysterious dance of colour as it changed. Sandor loved it here, he found that for once he finally felt peace. He slowly rolled his shoulders back hearing the pops of his back as he stretched out. "Christ I'm getting old" he thought to himself. His day had been taken up coaxing a sorrel filly into thinking that he wasn't going to hurt her. Sandor could understand the filly's reticence in trusting him, he was an intimidating man. He accepted that at 6ft 8" and built like a Mac Truck he intimidated most living things. When he was younger he'd used this fact as a weapon, a shield that protected him from getting to close to people. He drew stares from people where ever he went it wasn't until people got a look of his face that he saw the horror dawn upon them and the stares turn from interest to disgust and fear. Sandor's face was wracked by large twisted scars that started from above his hairline and stretched to well under the shirt he was wearing. He used to wear this as an almost badge of honour, using it to scare the men who sort to take advantage and horrify the women who were drawn to him. Sandor's face bore the remains of someone who once a long time ago may have been handsome. He wasn't what people would cause call classically handsome, he wasn't like those blond stuck up pricks he saw swanning around the town and bars near the ranch where his Cabin was. But there was something that drew women to him until they saw the other side of his face.

Taking another long draught from the bottle in his hand he thought about his plans for the next day he had a new load of horses being brought down from Saskatoon. His broker Bronn had got him a good deal on a few horses from a rancher in the north. It'd had seemed to good to be true when Bronn had told him the price for the horses.

Bronn had gone quiet on the phone

"Spit it out, go on there's got to be a catch no one sells horses of that quality for that price" Sandor snarled into the receiver.

"Well….." Bronn breathed uneasily. "you see the Ranchers got this daughter…."

Sandor put the phone down and rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes, picking the phone back up he caught the last of Bronn's excuse

"so you see she just needs somewhere to crash."

"Hold up, Hold up." Sandor rasped " Run that past me again".

It transpired that the Rancher had a 19year old daughter who had been clearing up in the barrel racing scene around Saskatchewan. His daughter now wanted to experience life on her own breaking and competing her own horses and needed a place to base herself. The rancher had told Bronn that he would make a deal on any horses that Sandor wanted to buy and would also pay handsomely for his daughter to spend time, as Bronn put it "learning the ropes with a grimy old fucker like you". The rancher apparently wanted his daughter to have the best experience and couldn't think of anyone better than Sandor to do this.

Sandor groaned into the phone "How good a deal are we talking here?"

Sandor ran the numbers quickly though his head taking into account the sum the rancher would be paying for his daughter to stay with him the rancher was effectively paying Sandor to take his horses off him.

"so the old man really wants his daughter to come down here then? What was his name again?"

"Ned Stark" Bronn replied "You must remember him? Might be a bit before your time buddy, but that guy was King long time ago. Held every major title in the North"

The name rattled around Sandor's head with a dawning realisation that he knew exactly who the old rancher was.

"Jesus Christ Bronn! Why didn't you tell me this earlier"

Sandor knew the old rancher he'd heard stories of his glory days riding the biggest and toughest bulls. Until he'd had the one of the worse crashes in the ring. The old man had smashed both his legs and needed one amputating swiftly putting an end to his golden reign. The man had gone on to breed some of the most highly sort after horses in the business. Famed for their determination, resilience and speed the Winterfell horses were known across the country for being some of the best in the business. It was this name that had attracted Sandor when Bronn had approached him with the deal.

"I told you it was a good deal" Bronn replied

Sandor could hear the grin on Bronn's face as he spoke

"Doesn't hurt that the girls easy on the eyes too."

"Fine" Sandor said "Tell him he has a deal"

Sandor drained the remaining mouthfuls of his bottle as he watched the sun making its final farewell over the horizon and thought to himself

"I'm too old for this shit".