Guts steps towards the ropes as Sansa speaks, though he doesn’t offer much in return beyond a listening ear. Once his good hand is cleaned on a rag, he grabs his elbow brace and slips it on. The iron forearm is then locked into place with an unwieldy clunk. Its metal fingers are fixed in an immobile clasping position, which he uses to hang the loops of rope off of.

He returns to her, but rather than a response, one end of the rope is outstretched towards her. Looks like he didn’t know much about being a proper lady, either.

“Grab this.”