"Yes, of course. We don't have such problems in Winterfell but I imagine these might even exist in Westeros somewhere. Perhaps across the Narrow Sea or something."

The origin of sleep masks was not the point. Sansa slips it over her eyes and adjusts it; she cannot see anything at all and it is completely dark. She can smell Rowan - his summer scent of honeycomb and vanilla. Sansa wonders if she smells of winter the same way he smells of summer but she imagines that this is a musing for another time and place.

She doesn't quite know what to do with her arms so she stretches them up to cross them behind her head on the soft pillows.

"Do with me what you will, then."