Since he mentioned Daenerys, Jon’s look has been softer than it was — only a little, but enough that any perceptive person might notice it. At the question about the dragon, he smiles slightly.

“Aye. Daenerys is an ally, and a friend. The last descendent of the dragonlords of Valyria, and the queen of the southron kingdoms. The dragon’s name is Drogon; she hatched him from an egg.” After a beat, he adds, “Never heard of Drogon talking — or any of the rest of them.”

Ghost has sat by Jon’s side. He pushes a distracted hand behind the direwolf’s ear, gives him a scratch. He feels very warm to the touch in this heat, but Jon is loath to send him away; they had been so long parted. I am sorry there is no snow for you to play in, he thinks, then, I wonder what the griffin would do with a great pile of snow.