Битва королей

Jon

           Yetastheduskdeepenedanddarknessseepedintothehollowsbetweenthetrees,Jon’ssenseofforebodinggrew.Thisisthehauntedforest,hetoldhimself.Maybethereareghostshere,thespiritsoftheFirstMen.Thiswastheirplace,once.

           "Stopactingtheboy,"hetoldhimself.Clamberingatopthepiledrocks,Jongazedofftowardthesettingsun.HecouldseethelightshimmeringlikehammeredgoldoffthesurfaceoftheMilkwaterasitcurvedawaytothesouth.Upriverthelandwasmorerugged,thedenseforestgivingwaytoaseriesofbarestonyhillsthatrosehighandwildtothenorthandwest.Onthehorizonstoodthemountainslikeagreatshadow,rangeonrangeofthemrecedingintotheblue-greydistance,theirjaggedpeakssheathedeternallyinsnow.Evenfromafartheylookedvastandcoldandinhospitable.

           Closerathand,itwasthetreesthatruled.TosouthandeastthewoodwentonasfarasJoncouldsee,avasttangleofrootandlimbpaintedinathousandshadesofgreen,withhereandthereapatchofredwhereaweirwoodshoulderedthroughthepinesandsentinels,orablushofyellowwheresomebroadleafshadbeguntoturn.Whenthewindblew,hecouldhearthecreakandgroanofbranchesolderthanhewas.Athousandleavesfluttered,andforamomenttheforestseemedadeepgreensea,storm-tossedandheaving,eternalandunknowable.

           Ghostwasnotliketobealonedownthere,hethought.

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