"About ten or fifteen. I was here for the last round of sickness too," Jon said, remembering how it had befallen some in the village and others had seemed to have the ability to cure it. He hadn't gotten ill that time but others had and he'd counted himself among the lucky ones. Now, it seemed, this illness had chosen at random and had not cared who fell ill and who remained healthy. It had no pattern that Jon could discern.

"I think we should do everything we can to help the healers and maesters prepare for the next round of illness. The words of my house are Winter is Coming. It means to be prepared. We have to prepare."