Битва королей

Bran

           

           Thesmellsfilledhishead,aliveandintoxicating;thegreenmuddystinkofthehotpools,theperfumeofrichrottingearthbeneathhispaws,thesquirrelsintheoaks.Thescentofsquirrelmadehimrememberthetasteofhotbloodandthewaytheboneswouldcrackbetweenhisteeth.Slaverfilledhismouth.Hehadeatennomorethanhalfadaypast,buttherewasnojoyindeadmeat,evendeer.Hecouldhearthesquirrelschitteringandrustlingabovehim,safeamongtheirleaves,buttheyknewbetterthantocomedowntowherehisbrotherandhewereprowling.

           Hecouldsmellhisbrothertoo,afamiliarscent,strongandearthy,hisscentasblackashiscoat.Hisbrotherwaslopingaroundthewalls,fulloffury.Roundandroundhewent,nightafterdayafternight,tireless,searching...forprey,forawayout,forhismother,hislittermates,hispack...searching,searching,andneverfinding.

           Behindthetreesthewallsrose,pilesofdeadman-rockthatloomedallaboutthisspeckoflivingwood.Speckledgreytheyrose,andmoss-spotted,yetthickandstrongandhigherthananywolfcouldhopetoleap.Coldironandsplinterywoodclosedofftheonlyholesthroughthepiledstonesthathemmedthemin.Hisbrotherwouldstopateveryholeandbarehisfangsinrage,butthewaysstayedclosed.

           Hehaddonethesamethefirstnight,andlearnedthatitwasnogood.Snarlswouldopennopathshere.Circlingthewallswouldnotpushthemback

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