"From the city, yes. I was looking for a godswood," Sansa says, nodding toward the trees. "Though these trees are lovely, none of them are the sort I would need to pray."

Once, Sansa had fancied herself a follower of the Seven, had prayed in the sept her mother had built at Winterfell when she came north. Now, though, if she believes in any gods at all they are the old gods of the north.