We are the men of the North, the North...
Despite the lingering feeling that the weather was not meant to last (the Starks were not exactly given to optimism), Robb was enjoying it. Determined to enjoy it. As much as he liked the island most of the time, he liked it even better when covered in snow, when he could wear the grey cloak with the direwolf clasp without melting in it, when Grey Wind could roll around in the snowdrifts like a puppy and trot back to Robb with little white flakes still clinging to his fur.
He's been avoiding the compound, for the most part; not for any particular reason but because he preferrs being outdoors, or at Summerfell, or Edmund's small shelter (both of which had been transformed with the weather as well). Now he's walking through the woods, humming under his breath that Northmen song Moril had taught Arya, with Grey Wind prancing happily at his side. He leans down and grabs up a handful of snow, packing it into a ball and tossing it at the wolf. Grey Wind leaps, catches it in his mouth, and gives Robb an is that the best you can do? sort of look.
Robb laughs, and packs another, and launches it toward the trees.
[Robb and Grey Wind play in the snow. Polly and Padme join them.]
He's been avoiding the compound, for the most part; not for any particular reason but because he preferrs being outdoors, or at Summerfell, or Edmund's small shelter (both of which had been transformed with the weather as well). Now he's walking through the woods, humming under his breath that Northmen song Moril had taught Arya, with Grey Wind prancing happily at his side. He leans down and grabs up a handful of snow, packing it into a ball and tossing it at the wolf. Grey Wind leaps, catches it in his mouth, and gives Robb an is that the best you can do? sort of look.
Robb laughs, and packs another, and launches it toward the trees.
[Robb and Grey Wind play in the snow. Polly and Padme join them.]