Игра престолов

Bran

           "I’mfalling!"

           Everyflightbeginswithafall,thecrowsaid.Lookdown.

           "I’mafraid..."

           LOOKDOWN!

           Branlookeddown,andfelthisinsidesturntowater.Thegroundwasrushingupathimnow.Thewholeworldwasspreadoutbelowhim,atapestryofwhiteandbrownandgreen.Hecouldseeeverythingsoclearlythatforamomentheforgottobeafraid.Hecouldseethewholerealm,andeveryoneinit.

           HesawWinterfellastheeaglesseeit,thetalltowerslookingsquatandstubbyfromabove,thecastlewallsjustlinesinthedirt.HesawMaesterLuwinonhisbalcony,studyingtheskythroughapolishedbronzetubeandfrowningashemadenotesinabook.HesawhisbrotherRobb,tallerandstrongerthanherememberedhim,practicingswordplayintheyardwithrealsteelinhishand.HesawHodor,thesimplegiantfromthestables,carryingananviltoMikken’sforge,heftingitontohisshoulderaseasilyasanothermanmightheftabaleofhay.Attheheartofthegodswood,thegreatwhiteweirwoodbroodedoveritsreflectionintheblackpool,itsleavesrustlinginachillwind.WhenitfeltBranwatching,itlifteditseyesfromthestillwatersandstaredbackathimknowingly.

           Helookedeast,andsawagalleyracingacrossthewatersoftheBite.Hesawhismothersittingaloneinacabin,lookingatabloodstainedknifeonatableinfrontofher,astherowerspulledattheiroarsandSerRodrikleanedacrossarail,shakingandheaving.Astormwasgatheringaheadofthem,avastdarkroaringlashedbylightning,butsomehowtheycouldnotseeit.

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