the white wolf

It always felt a little wrong to light fires on the island, seeing as how it was oppressively hot most of the time, but there was a familiarity to sitting around a fire at night and with the breeze off the ocean, it was a little cooler than it was during the day. Jon had lit the fire late one evening, thinking that he and Robb and Bran could stand to have a bit of time together.

It was a long time and many leagues from Winterfell but they were the same, still brothers (even if Jon were more of a cousin than brother technically speaking) and Jon felt it was important to keep those family ties strong. Robb had been here several years now and seen versions of Jon and Bran come and go - that kind of thing had to take a toll on a person.

He had a mug of Robb's cider that he was sipping at while he tended the fire, coaxing it into a warm, welcoming flame. He would never be overly fond of fire after burning his hand but he still respected it and respected the atmosphere it could create; a fire meant life and death north of the Wall. Here on the island, it was merely a place to wind down the day with his brothers and catch up on the comings and goings of the day.

Jon was glad that things were so simple once again, so much like being home again with none of the peril.

[OOC: Tag order depends on who gets here first, maybe?]

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?"