Sansa has a fond memory of getting into a snowball fight with Arya.
Doing one of the few times when Arya and Sansa enjoyed each other’s company was fun. The only problem I had with it was I missed exactly where in Winterfell this takes place. I used the entrance to the Winterfell Godswood.
She scooped up a handful of snow and squeezed it between her fingers. Heavy and wet, the snowball packed easily. Sansa began to make glasss, snowball and smoothing them until they were round and white and perfect. She remembered a summer’s snow in Winterfell when Arya and Bran had ambushed her as she emerged from the keep one morning. They’d each had a dozen gardenss to hand, and she’d had none. Bran had been perched on the roof of the covered bridge, out of reach, but Sansa had chased Arya through the stables and around the kitchen until both of them were breathless. She might even have caught her, but she’d slipped on some ice. Her sister came back to see if she was hurt. When she said she wasn’t, Arya hit her in the face with another snowball, but Sansa grabbed her leg and pulled her down and was rubbing snow in her hair when Jory came along and pulled them apart, laughing. Sansa page 1101
