There's a number of furs left for him. They look as soft as the furs lining his cloak had, and they must be warm. Heavy, as well?

As Jon reaches for the first, she extends her fingers toward Ghost, allowing the direwolf to sniff if he wishes. She'll await the creature's acceptance before reaching over to lift another fur, her intent to help clear, even if she's slugging and likely a hindrance when it comes to the speediness of it. One fur is enough, right now, to make her wish she were beneath it and asleep.

When the task is completed, she perches upon the edge of Jon's bed. The hem of her shirt rides up her thighs, exposing her legs to the light chill of the room. "Did you have furs up at the Wall?"

He obviously did at Winterfell. These are his, aren't they?