(no subject)

[handandahalf]

Last year the island had given gifts all at once; Jon remembered it every day, every time he went to take Cornix for a ride or brush him down. He'd thought about it this year, but hadn't quite noticed when the day had come and gone, too busy lamenting the absence of snow for another year. So this morning when he'd woken to find the common room of their home suddenly made more crowded by the appearance of a very comfortable leather-covered chair, he'd been nearly as surprised as he had last year. To Jon Snow, the tag read, because all fathers should have one. Jon hadn't quite been sure what that meant, until he sat in the chair and pulled the handle on the side-- then he'd laughed aloud in delight, and folded his hands behind his head, and gone back to sleep.

Now several hours later, Jon had realized there was a problem with his gift: now they scarcely had room for the other two chairs and small table that had resided in the common space till now. He had tried a few times to rearrange things, but there was nothing to be done; it was the chair or everything else. So he'd dragged the other furniture out into the small yard, realizing that the gift was a sign of something larger that he'd known loomed on their horizons; he just hadn't known how close. "I guess it's time to start adding on," he said aloud, standing with his hands on his hips, regarding his home and trying to imagine how it was going to grow.

[for anyone, new or old. great time to meet him.]