Her voice is kind, impossibly kind. Sansa has never heard a voice quite like that before, sweet and drawn out. Her own vowels seem clipped and cold in response to it and she forces herself to smile a bit, to nod her head. She can play the little bird again, she knows she can.

"I'll be fine," she promises. "I've just seemed to have lost my way, somehow, and I'm not certain where I am."

It's not Westeros or Winterfell. That is certain.