[1]
honestly jon is more embarrassed than anything about his predicament. if he can't protect himself from the cold, what use is he to anyone? it isn't like him to lose time to the hunt, meager as it was. it isn't like ghost to let him.
he isn't worried for them, so much. ghost was born to live in conditions like these, and he can share in ghost's fur and warmth. besides, there are worse ways to die than freezing to death, and there are the deaths you don't come back from. it's said the process will take something from you, maybe your memories of home. there are a lot of memories he'd be better off without. it's hard not to think of ygritte, exposed to the elements like this; try as he might he can't help but associate this sort of rough living with his time with her. would it be better for him if he could forget that time altogether? part of him feels it would be, but part of him knows he wouldn't be the man he is today if he did.

these are grim and unhelpful thoughts. it takes a while for a man and a direwolf to freeze to death, and there's every likelihood he might find help before then. unlike at home he has a means of communicating his situation before frostbite sets in. he crouches down to build a sort of hollow snow shelter against the side of the building to keep him out of the worst of the wind. he climbs down into it, and ghost settles around him. he buries their catch in the snow beside him; they will not, at least, go hungry. it's nothing big enough to be much use as a pelt. his furs will keep him dry enough. he brushes a little snow out of his hair, and pulls out the device he was given.]

This is Jon Snow. I ask shelter for me and my wolf. We have a few rabbits to share with any who open their doors to us.

[he sounds measured and calm, if a little frustrated. his teeth aren't even chattering yet.]