đđđđ, đ â .
The winter grows on him and tangles itself in his hair,    mother-like in touch   â  present and cold all at once.   He supposes in some ways there were lessons to be learned here.   Ned had always reminded him of that:   keep your eyes open,   sometimes itâs not only the trees that listen.    Not that he had to say much to lure out the paranoia inside of Jon.   It was natural to him.   This sharp awareness that was bred into him unintentionally during childhood and only seemed to form a piercing point in adulthood.     He doesnât bother to search for assurances,   and he feels himself wanting even more distance from the Starks and Winterfell.   A nauseating ache that only seems to dull itself to a throb when the nights are silent and thereâs only the low whines of Ghost as he paces at the foot of his bed.    Restless and eager for something to happen,   but not quite knowing how to shape it in words.   An adventure sounded too naive,  a task sounded too royal.   He relies on the limbo,    keeps himself entertained with the vague balance of listlessness and vividness.   The dreams continue.   Not all are bad,   although they feel too real.   They dig into him even with the afternoon light of the pale sun,    they force him to lose track of his current duty at hand:   polishing a few hunting daggers near the weaponry.    Heâs sitting on an old stool against the armouryâs wall,  and his boots are soaked in the mud,   the discomfort forgotten to him.   Lost in thought even as his white animal darts out across the courtyard to greet a beautiful and ultimately misplaced woman.    He immediately wished Robb were around,   he always did have the ability to hide his nature to welcome visitors  â-  especially ones with air of importance and gracefulness.   Ghost seemed to be doing alright,   curled tail wagging,   still the size of a normal dog,  if not for the redness of his irises now showing a bit more.    Jon couldnât help the small smile that tugs at his lips,   although his head remains bowed down,  stained cloth paused between wipes.     âAye,   lost indeed.â   A breath,   not quite knowing what to say to someone so clearly above him in every way possible,   and someone so strikingly pretty.    Her laugh,   however,   encourages him to at least glance up for a second,   the grey eyes of the bastard seemingly hesitant to be viewed in daylight.   He goes to stand,   an awkward bow bending his waist slightly,   courteous in movement,  yet already not entirely heartfelt.      âApologies,  my Lady  [âŚ]   come,   Ghost,   leave her be.â
the lady of the reach should not kneel in the snow to greet the pup. the red irises are a shock, but the small beast seems friendly enough. she brushes her fingers of the stark white coat, allowing the cool snow to sink into her cloak.  â hello, ghost. â  she murmurs with a smile, scratching under the chin of the dog. it seemed an appropriate enough name for the white fur covering the entirety of his body.  â you are very handsome. â  she compliments the beast. gaze lifts to meet the eyes of the man who called the dog away,  â he is not a bother, i promise. â  she offers gently.  â it has been far too long since i have been around an animal that is kept for pleasure rather than labor. â  of course, there had been horses and other beasts of labor, but this was different.Â









