Битва королей

Jon

           Jongathereduptheemptycupsandsteppedoutside.Hehearddistantlaughter,theplaintivesoundofpipes.Agreatblazewascracklinginthecenterofthecamp,andhecouldsmellstewcooking.TheOldBearmightnotbehungry,butJonwas.Hedriftedovertowardthefire.

           Dywenwasholdingforth,spooninhand."Iknowthiswoodaswellasanymanalive,andItellyou,Iwouldn’tcaretoridethroughitalonetonight.Can’tyousmellit?"

           Grennwasstaringathimwithwideeyes,butDolorousEddsaid,"AllIsmellistheshitoftwohundredhorses.Andthisstew.Whichhasasimilararoma,nowthatIcometosniffit."

           "I’vegotyoursimilararomarighthere."Hakepattedhisdirk.Grumbling,hefilledJon’sbowlfromthekettle.

           Thestewwasthickwithbarley,carrot,andonion,withhereandtherearaggedshredofsaltbeef,softenedinthecooking.

           "Whatisityousmell,Dywen?"askedGrenn.

           Theforestersuckedonhisspoonamoment.Hehadtakenouthisteeth.Hisfacewasleatheryandwrinkled,hishandsgnarledasoldroots."Seemstomelikeitsmells...well...cold."

           "Yourhead’saswoodenasyourteeth,"Haketoldhim."There’snosmelltocold."

           Thereis,thoughtJon,rememberingthenightintheLordCommander’schambers.Itsmellslikedeath.Suddenlyhewasnothungryanymore.

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