the white wolf

It was the eve before a big holiday in the world of the island and while Jon understood it some from Kurt and Lionel's explanations, it still was foreign to celebrate winter in Westeros and as nice as this Christmas seemed, Jon was a little bit wary of it all. He wanted to know that the warm weather would come back because they'd not had time to prepare stores for a long winter as they knew them in Westeros and it was...it was just foreign.

One thing that was nice, though, was the idea of making presents for Reynald and he'd gotten some wood and started whittling it with one of his knives. Blocks, maybe, would be a good toy for a boy of his age but that simple idea had turned into carving the sigils of the major houses of Westeros instead.

He'd done a wolf already and set it down nearby while he carved a three-headed dragon. He wouldn't be able to paint them, no, but hopefully Reynald would enjoy them as is.

After having spent some time with Lionel that wasn't exactly in Jon's normal habits or routines he thought, perhaps, it might be a good idea to seek out someone to talk about recent developments. It wasn't really breaking his oaths, of that Jon was certain, but what it was he couldn't say and Edmund, at least, had taken another man as a lover and might have some insight.

It was strange how close he felt to Edmund considering that for all intents and purposes he was his goodbrother but the sister that Jon's former self had been married to was no longer here and Jon had no interest in a wife or children. He'd broken oaths left and right to save Arya and protect the Watch but since Ygritte, he hadn't broken that oath and he didn't intend to again.

Edmund lived near Summerfell, at least, and Jon called out to him from the path.

"Edmund? Could I speak to you?"

Overly formal, yes, but Jon didn't exactly know how to broach this subject.

Even after the better part of a month on the island, there were things Jon had not grown used to. There was the fact that his brother and sister were alive and hale for one, something he'd never take for granted, and there were the strange modern "conveniences" like the jukebox and the television and the laundry machines that Jon really tried to steer clear of.

He had been washing his few clothes out by hand, as it was, and was hanging them along a makeshift line when he saw Edmund. Edmund, the brother apparently of the woman he'd married the last time he was here and Jon still wasn't quite sure what to think about that and, by proxy, Edmund himself.

"Afternoon, Edmund," he called out, friendly even if he hadn't stopped working on the laundry to go greet him.

After coming to this...clinic and being tended by a strange sort of maester, Jon was ready to go. Still, he'd been instructed to stay for observation, whatever that meant, and while his wounds didn't pain him as much as he thought they should, he erred on the side of caution. He had never done well while idle. At Castle Black, there was no time to be idle with the duties of a Lord Commander weighing heavily on his shoulders along with trying to appease Stannis' queen and the Wildlings and having a stretch of time all to himself was...daunting at best.

Someone had been kind enough to bring him a book, at least, and while Jon could read and write, some of the words were unfamiliar in this particular volume. Like the way Charlie had spoken when he'd arrived - different, somehow, and not exactly like the way someone from Westeros would speak and carry himself. It seemed off but not unsafe, at least not yet, and Jon had settled into an uneasy trust of his surroundings for the time being.

Hearing Ghost perk up brought him up from the book and the strange words and it was someone he thought had long been dead. His eyes were playing tricks on him, clearly, or maybe he was simply addled from the heat. There was no way that Robb Stark was standing in the doorway.

"Robb?"

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