Битва королей

Jon

           Asmallprune-facedmanofanagewithMormont,SerOttynalwayslookedtired,evenatCastleBlack,andtherainhadbeatenhimdownunmercifully."Welcometidings,"hesaid."Thiswethassoakedmybones,andevenmysaddlesorescomplainofsaddlesores."

           Onhiswayback,Jonswungwideofthecolumn’slineofmarchandtookashorterpaththroughthethickofthewood.Thesoundsofmanandhorsediminished,swallowedupbythewetgreenwild,andsoonenoughhecouldhearonlythesteadywashofrainagainstleafandtreeandrock.Itwasmid-afternoon,yettheforestseemedasdarkasdusk.Jonwoveapathbetweenrocksandpuddles,pastgreatoaks,grey-greensentinels,andblack-barkedironwoods.Inplacesthebrancheswoveacanopyoverheadandhewasgivenamoment’srespitefromthedrummingoftherainagainsthishead.Asherodepastalightning-blastedchestnuttreeovergrownwithwildwhiteroses,heheardsomethingrustlingintheunderbrush."Ghost,"hecalledout."Ghost,tome."

           ButitwasDywenwhoemergedfromthegreenery,forkingashaggygreygarronwithGrennahorsebesidehim.TheOldBearhaddeployedoutriderstoeithersideofthemaincolumn,toscreentheirmarchandwarnoftheapproachofanyenemies,andeventherehetooknochances,sendingthemenoutinpairs.

           "Ah,it’syou,LordSnow."Dywensmiledanoakensmile;histeethwerecarvedofwood,andfitbadly."Thoughtmeandtheboyhadusoneo’themOtherstodealwith.

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