Jon

           Thehilljuttedabovethedensetangleofforest,risingsolitaryandsudden,itswindsweptheightsvisiblefrommilesoff.ThewildlingscalledittheFistoftheFirstMen,rangerssaid.Itdidlooklikeafist,JonSnowthought,punchingupthroughearthandwood,itsbarebrownslopesknuckledwithstone.

           HerodetothetopwithLordMormontandtheofficers,leavingGhostbelowunderthetrees.Thedirewolfhadrunoffthreetimesastheyclimbed,twicereturningreluctantlytoJon’swhistle.Thethirdtime,theLordCommanderlostpatienceandsnapped,"Lethimgo,boy.Iwanttoreachthecrestbeforedusk.Findthewolflater."

           Thewayupwassteepandstony,thesummitcrownedbyachest-highwalloftumbledrocks.Theyhadtocirclesomedistancewestbeforetheyfoundagaplargeenoughtoadmitthehorses."Thisisgoodground,Thoren,"theOldBearproclaimedwhenatlasttheyattainedthetop."Wecouldscarcehopeforbetter.We’llmakeourcampheretoawaitHalfhand."TheLordCommanderswungdownoffhissaddle,dislodgingtheravenfromhisshoulder.Complainingloudly,thebirdtooktotheair.

           Theviewsatopthehillwerebracing,yetitwastheringwallthatdrewJon’seye,theweatheredgreystoneswiththeirwhitepatchesoflichen,theirbeardsofgreenmoss.ItwassaidthattheFisthadbeenaringfortoftheFirstMenintheDawnAge."Anoldplace,andstrong,"ThorenSmallwoodsaid.

Настройки
Фон страницы
Размер шрифта
Межстрочный интервал
Фразовые глаголы
Показать / Скрыть меню
Шрифт
Roboto Lora
Уведомления
Страница 665 из 1267