That Robb still had no proper weapons or tools of his own was still a bit of a wrench. Everyday he passed the blacksmith's hut, no blacksmith to run it and no supplies beside. There was no fletcher but his own two hands, and while he wasn't terrible at arrow-craft, they never turned out as nicely as he wanted and often performed poorly. He knew he ought to be grateful for the cache of weapons he could borrow from daily, and he was, but it was always a bit difficult to give them back.

He had just descended the stairs from doing that very thing, his head full of competing thoughts -- Had he done enough today? Would his father be disappointed? Would difficult questions be asked over the evening meal? -- when he spied the young woman sprawled in a chair.

"That," he remarked as he stepped closer with a soft chuckle, "is precisely what I'd like to be doing right now."

Just sitting, and not thinking about damned thing.