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- Джордж Мартин
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"
The
maester
’
s
ravens
fly
over
salt
as
soon
as
rock
.
This
news
is
old
and
cold
.
"
"
It
means
a
new
day
,
Uncle
.
"
"
Every
morning
brings
a
new
day
,
much
like
the
old
.
"
"
In
Riverrun
,
they
would
tell
you
different
.
They
say
the
red
comet
is
a
herald
of
a
new
age
.
A
messenger
from
the
gods
.
"
"
A
sign
it
is
,
"
the
priest
agreed
,
"
but
from
our
god
,
not
theirs
.
A
burning
brand
it
is
,
such
as
our
people
carried
of
old
.
It
is
the
flame
the
Drowned
God
brought
from
the
sea
,
and
it
proclaims
a
rising
tide
.
It
is
time
to
hoist
our
sails
and
go
forth
into
the
world
with
fire
and
sword
,
as
he
did
.
"
Theon
smiled
.
"
I
could
not
agree
more
.
"
"
A
man
agrees
with
god
as
a
raindrop
with
the
storm
.
"
This
raindrop
will
one
day
be
a
king
,
old
man
.
Theon
had
suffered
quite
enough
of
his
uncle
’
s
gloom
.
He
put
his
spurs
into
his
horse
and
trotted
on
ahead
,
smiling
.
It
was
nigh
on
sunset
when
they
reached
the
walls
of
Pyke
,
a
crescent
of
dark
stone
that
ran
from
cliff
to
cliff
,
with
the
gatehouse
in
the
center
and
three
square
towers
to
either
side
.
Theon
could
still
make
out
the
scars
left
by
the
stones
of
Robert
Baratheon
’
s
catapults
.
A
new
south
tower
had
risen
from
the
ruins
of
the
old
,
its
stone
a
paler
shade
of
grey
,
and
as
yet
unmarred
by
patches
of
lichen
.
That
was
where
Robert
had
made
his
breach
,
swarming
in
over
the
rubble
and
corpses
with
his
warhammer
in
hand
and
Ned
Stark
at
his
side
.
Theon
had
watched
from
the
safety
of
the
Sea
Tower
,
and
sometimes
he
still
saw
the
torches
in
his
dreams
,
and
heard
the
dull
thunder
of
the
collapse
.
