Игра престолов

Bran

           Becausewinteriscoming.

           Branlookedatthecrowonhisshoulder,andthecrowlookedback.Ithadthreeeyes,andthethirdeyewasfullofaterribleknowledge.Branlookeddown.Therewasnothingbelowhimnowbutsnowandcoldanddeath,afrozenwastelandwherejaggedblue-whitespiresoficewaitedtoembracehim.Theyflewupathimlikespears.Hesawthebonesofathousandotherdreamersimpaledupontheirpoints.Hewasdesperatelyafraid.

           "Canamanstillbebraveifhe’safraid?"heheardhisownvoicesaying,smallandfaraway.

           Andhisfather’svoicerepliedtohim."Thatistheonlytimeamancanbebrave."

           Now,Bran,thecrowurged.Choose.Flyordie.

           Deathreachedforhim,screaming.

           Branspreadhisarmsandflew.

           Wingsunseendrankthewindandfilledandpulledhimupward.Theterribleneedlesoficerecededbelowhim.Theskyopenedupabove.Bransoared.Itwasbetterthanclimbing.Itwasbetterthananything.Theworldgrewsmallbeneathhim.

           "I’mflying!"hecriedoutindelight.

           I’venoticed,saidthethree-eyedcrow.Ittooktotheair,flappingitswingsinhisface,slowinghim,blindinghim.Hefalteredintheairasitspinionsbeatagainsthischeeks.Itsbeakstabbedathimfiercely,andBranfeltasuddenblindingpaininthemiddleofhisforehead,betweenhiseyes.

           "Whatareyoudoing?"heshrieked

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