Игра престолов

Tyrion

           AllitwouldtakewouldbeaquickshoveofMord’sheavywhitebelly,andhewouldendupasickeningredsplotchonthestonesofSky,likesomanyotherprisonersoftheEyrieoverthecenturies."Cometothinkonit,I’mnothungryafterall,"hedeclared,retreatingtothecornerofhiscell.

           Mordgruntedandopenedhisthickfingers.Thewindtooktheplate,flippingitoverasitfell.Ahandfulofbeanssprayedbackatthemasthefoodtumbledoutofsight.Theturnkeylaughed,hisgutshakinglikeabowlofpudding.

           Tyrionfeltapangofrage."Youfuckingsonofapox-riddenass,"hespat."Ihopeyoudieofabloodyflux."

           Forthat,Mordgavehimakick,drivingasteel-toedboothardintoTyrion’sribsonthewayout."Itakeitback!"hegaspedashedoubledoveronthestraw."I’llkillyoumyself,Iswearit!"Theheavyiron-bounddoorslammedshut.Tyrionheardtherattleofkeys.

           Forasmallman,hehadbeencursedwithadangerouslybigmouth,hereflectedashecrawledbacktohiscornerofwhattheArrynslaughablycalledtheirdungeon.Hehuddledbeneaththethinblanketthatwashisonlybedding,staringoutatablazeofemptyblueskyanddistantmountainsthatseemedtogoonforever,wishinghestillhadtheshadowskincloakhe’dwonfromMarillionatdice,afterthesingerhadstolenitoffthebodyofthatbrigandchief.Theskinhadsmelledofbloodandmold,butitwaswarmandthick.Mordhadtakenitthemomenthelaideyesonit.

           Thewindtuggedathisblanketwithgustssharpastalons.

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