Jon

           Whitetree,thevillagewasnamedonSam’soldmaps.Jondidnotthinkitmuchofavillage.Fourtumbledownone-roomhousesofunmortaredstonesurroundedanemptysheepfoldandawell.Thehouseswereroofedwithsod,thewindowsshutteredwithraggedpiecesofhide.Andabovethemloomedthepalelimbsanddarkredleavesofamonstrousgreatweirwood.

           ItwasthebiggesttreeJonSnowhadeverseen,thetrunkneareightfeetwide,thebranchesspreadingsofarthattheentirevillagewasshadedbeneaththeircanopy.Thesizedidnotdisturbhimsomuchastheface...themouthespecially,nosimplecarvedslash,butajaggedhollowlargeenoughtoswallowasheep.

           Thosearenotsheepbones,though.Noristhatasheep’sskullintheashes.

           "Anoldtree."Mormontsathishorse,frowning."Old,"hisravenagreedfromhisshoulder."Old,old,old."

           "Andpowerful."Joncouldfeelthepower.

           ThorenSmallwooddismountedbesidethetrunk,darkinhisplateandmail."Lookatthatface.Smallwondermenfearedthem,whentheyfirstcametoWesteros.I’dliketotakeanaxetothebloodythingmyself."

           Jonsaid,"Mylordfatherbelievednomancouldtellalieinfrontofahearttree.Theoldgodsknowwhenmenarelying."

           "Myfatherbelievedthesame,"saidtheOldBear."Letmehavealookatthatskull."

           Jondismounted.

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