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    The crisp air of the Wolfswood was alive with the sounds of rustling leaves and distant animal calls. Shadow had taken Jon and Mary on a hunting expedition, this time accompanied by the direwolves. The massive creatures moved silently through the trees, their golden eyes gleaming as they tracked their prey. Mother Wolf led the pack, her presence commanding and regal, while her five pups darted between the trees, their playful growls echoing through the forest.


    Mary, ever the wild one, carried a wooden spear tipped with a sharpened rock. She had no interest in the iron-tipped weapons Jon used, and Shadow wondered if it was the smell of iron she disliked. She moved with a fierce grace, her tail flicking behind her as she stalked through the underbrush, her blue eyes gleaming with excitement.


    Jon, meanwhile, practiced hunting with an axe. Shadow had taught him to use the weapon with precision, his strikes clean and efficient. Though Jon was still young, his skill was growing, and Shadow could see the potential in him. The direwolves circled around Jon, their instincts guiding them to work as a team.


    As the day wore on, the group returned to Winterfell with a small deer in tow. Mary growled triumphantly, her tail wagging furiously as she dragged the carcass behind her. Jon smiled, his dark eyes filled with pride. The direwolves followed, their muzzles stained with blood but their demeanor calm and satisfied.


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    But the next morning, Jon woke with a fever. His face was pale, and his body shivered under the blankets. Mary, sensing his discomfort, curled up beside him, her tail coiling around his body like a living blanket. Her warmth seemed to soothe him, and he drifted back to sleep.


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    Shadow watched from the corner of the room, his glowing eyes filled with concern. He had never seen Mary catch a cold, but he worried that Jon’s illness might affect her. Still, she seemed unaffected, her blue eyes bright and her tail flicking contentedly.


    Ned Stark arrived later that day, his expression filled with fatherly concern. He knelt beside Jon’s bed, placing a hand on his son’s forehead. “You’ve caught a cold,” Ned said, his voice gentle. “But you’ll be fine. I’ve brought medicine.”


    He handed Jon a small vial of cold medicine, his grey eyes soft with affection. Mary growled softly, her tail tightening around Jon as if to protect him. Ned smiled, ruffling her hair before turning to leave.


    But Shadow’s glowing eyes narrowed as he watched a servant slip into the room moments later. The woman, one of Catelyn’s loyal maids, replaced Ned’s medicine with a fake vial, her hands trembling as she worked. Shadow’s form rippled with anger, but he said nothing. He would deal with her later.


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    That night, Jon’s fever broke. He woke feeling stronger, his body warm from Mary’s coiled tail. Shadow watched as Jon sat up, his dark eyes clear and alert.


    “How do you feel?” Shadow asked, his voice a low hum in Jon’s mind.


    “Better,” Jon said, his voice hoarse but steady. “Much better.”


    Mary growled softly, her tail unwinding as she nuzzled Jon’s hand. Shadow’s glowing eyes softened as he watched them. He wondered if Mary’s presence had something to do with Jon’s recovery. Was it magic? Or was it simply the resilience of youth?