Jone takes a moment with that, as well. The mountain's ominous quiet deafens whatever mourning they both meet; Jone has or had a brother, once. He's died a thousand deaths in Jone's imaginings, having no news of him since they were twelve.

Nobody wants hugs and a good cry over it. What's done is done.

"Can you ride horse?" Jone says, breaking the silence. "How much exercise have you, day to day?"