[the 'mocking' she doesn't get, because all wanda can gather from where their conversation has rolled towards is that she's nearly made him laugh; that there's amusement well in the air, just about brewing.

clover, the horse, snorts, avoiding a large rock pressed onto the path and forcing wanda to follow after its sudden shift, holding tight onto the leash, steps hurried for a moment.]

I don't know what kind of fucker you strike me as, Sandor, but you're not half as uninteresting as you might think you are. [all this said, words returned, with a generous lilt of amusement in her voice. if he were to turn to look at her face, he will find that wanda is smiling.] We'll leave the reading to others. Doesn't help us that much here in Solvunn, anyway, so you're right about that.