first snowfall
Susan was beyond relieved that the heat wave had broken, giving way to deep drifts of snow--both because the oppressive heat was gone and because Rickon could experience his first snowfall. After making a trip to the compound to find a tiny snowsuit with smiling-faced snowmen printed on it, and tiny boots, mittens, and a fuzzy hat for Rickon as well as some warm things for the rest of them, Susan and Jon took Rickon out into the yard for a bit of play in the snow.
At first Rickon was too busy trying to pull off his hat and chew on his mittens to even notice that there was snow on the ground. He couldn't really pull his hat off with his hands covered in the mittens, and he began to make the frustrated noises that were a familiar prelude to a full-blown tantrum. Then Jon scooped up a handful of the white stuff and held it up for Rickon's inspection as Susan held him, and Rickon forgot about the hat and mittens in his fascination. He grabbed some and tried to put it in his mouth, spit it right back out at the shock of the coldness, then laughed as some of it melted on his face.
At seven months old, Rickon was not walking on his own yet--not even crawling, as a matter of fact--but if Jon and Susan held his hands and gave him a lot of support he could do that funny little tiptoe-walk that babies did. So they did just that, each holding one of his hands and letting him flail his booted feet around in the snow. The snow was almost up to his hips, but he refused to let Susan or Jon pick him up no matter how deep the snow got, screeching every time they did until they put him down again. He would have rolled round in the stuff if Susan had let him, but she wouldn't allow it despite Jon's reasoning that he had the North in his blood and a little roll in the snow probably wouldn't hurt him.
"Eh!" Rickon yelled, tugging on his parents' hands. "Eh! Eh!" He was trying his best to lay down in the snow, but Susan would not let go. Since tugging didn't work, he tried to bite her hand, but since she was wearing thick gloves (and because he didn't yet have any teeth) it didn't much make of a difference.
"No, Rickon," she said firmly. "We don't bite. You can't lay down in the snow. You'll get soaking wet and end up with pneumonia or something. If you keep on like this, I'm going to pick you up and take you back in the house."
Rickon's little face turned red, and Susan looked at Jon in exasperation, waiting to see if Rickon would calm down or if he would decide to bring the afternoon's fun to a crashing halt.
[ooc: Joint post with the Snows in the snow in front of Snow House. order is your pup, Jon, Susan. It's up to you whether Rickon calms down or has a screeching tantrum!]
At first Rickon was too busy trying to pull off his hat and chew on his mittens to even notice that there was snow on the ground. He couldn't really pull his hat off with his hands covered in the mittens, and he began to make the frustrated noises that were a familiar prelude to a full-blown tantrum. Then Jon scooped up a handful of the white stuff and held it up for Rickon's inspection as Susan held him, and Rickon forgot about the hat and mittens in his fascination. He grabbed some and tried to put it in his mouth, spit it right back out at the shock of the coldness, then laughed as some of it melted on his face.
At seven months old, Rickon was not walking on his own yet--not even crawling, as a matter of fact--but if Jon and Susan held his hands and gave him a lot of support he could do that funny little tiptoe-walk that babies did. So they did just that, each holding one of his hands and letting him flail his booted feet around in the snow. The snow was almost up to his hips, but he refused to let Susan or Jon pick him up no matter how deep the snow got, screeching every time they did until they put him down again. He would have rolled round in the stuff if Susan had let him, but she wouldn't allow it despite Jon's reasoning that he had the North in his blood and a little roll in the snow probably wouldn't hurt him.
"Eh!" Rickon yelled, tugging on his parents' hands. "Eh! Eh!" He was trying his best to lay down in the snow, but Susan would not let go. Since tugging didn't work, he tried to bite her hand, but since she was wearing thick gloves (and because he didn't yet have any teeth) it didn't much make of a difference.
"No, Rickon," she said firmly. "We don't bite. You can't lay down in the snow. You'll get soaking wet and end up with pneumonia or something. If you keep on like this, I'm going to pick you up and take you back in the house."
Rickon's little face turned red, and Susan looked at Jon in exasperation, waiting to see if Rickon would calm down or if he would decide to bring the afternoon's fun to a crashing halt.
[ooc: Joint post with the Snows in the snow in front of Snow House. order is your pup, Jon, Susan. It's up to you whether Rickon calms down or has a screeching tantrum!]