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- Джордж Мартин
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- Стр. 165/853
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Dany
had
named
him
the
first
of
her
Queensguard
.
.
.
and
when
Mormont
’
s
gruff
counsel
and
the
omens
agreed
,
her
course
was
clear
.
She
called
her
people
together
and
mounted
her
silver
mare
.
Her
hair
had
burned
away
in
Drogo
’
s
pyre
,
so
her
handmaids
garbed
her
in
the
skin
of
the
hrakkar
Drogo
had
slain
,
the
white
lion
of
the
Dothraki
sea
.
Its
fearsome
head
made
a
hood
to
cover
her
naked
scalp
,
its
pelt
a
cloak
that
flowed
across
her
shoulders
and
down
her
back
.
The
cream
-
colored
dragon
sunk
sharp
black
claws
into
the
lion
’
s
mane
and
coiled
its
tail
around
her
arm
,
while
Ser
Jorah
took
his
accustomed
place
by
her
side
.
"
We
follow
the
comet
,
"
Dany
told
her
khalasar
.
Once
it
was
said
,
no
word
was
raised
against
it
.
They
had
been
Drogo
’
s
people
,
but
they
were
hers
now
.
The
Unburnt
,
they
called
her
,
and
Mother
of
Dragons
.
Her
word
was
their
law
.
They
rode
by
night
,
and
by
day
took
refuge
from
the
sun
beneath
their
tents
.
Soon
enough
Dany
learned
the
truth
of
Doreah
’
s
words
.
This
was
no
kindly
country
.
They
left
a
trail
of
dead
and
dying
horses
behind
them
as
they
went
,
for
Pono
,
Jhaqo
,
and
the
others
had
seized
the
best
of
Drogo
’
s
herds
,
leaving
to
Dany
the
old
and
the
scrawny
,
the
sickly
and
the
lame
,
the
broken
animals
and
the
ill
-
tempered
.
It
was
the
same
with
the
people
.
They
are
not
strong
,
she
told
herself
,
so
I
must
be
their
strength
.
I
must
show
no
fear
,
no
weakness
,
no
doubt
.
However
frightened
my
heart
,
when
they
look
upon
my
face
they
must
see
only
Drogo
’
s
queen
.
She
felt
older
than
her
fourteen
years
.
If
ever
she
had
truly
been
a
girl
,
that
time
was
done
.
Three
days
into
the
march
,
the
first
man
died
.
A
toothless
oldster
with
cloudy
blue
eyes
,
he
fell
exhausted
from
his
saddle
and
could
not
rise
again
.
An
hour
later
he
was
done
.
Blood
flies
swarmed
about
his
corpse
and
carried
his
ill
luck
to
the
living
.
"
His
time
was
past
,
"
her
handmaid
Irri
declared
.
"
No
man
should
live
longer
than
his
teeth
.
"
The
others
agreed
.
Dany
bid
them
kill
the
weakest
of
their
dying
horses
,
so
the
dead
man
might
go
mounted
into
the
night
lands
.
Two
nights
later
,
it
was
an
infant
girl
who
perished
.
Her
mother
’
s
anguished
wailing
lasted
all
day
,
but
there
was
nothing
to
be
done
.
The
child
had
been
too
young
to
ride
,
poor
thing
.
Not
for
her
the
endless
black
grasses
of
the
night
lands
;
she
must
be
born
again
.
There
was
little
forage
in
the
red
waste
,
and
less
water
.
It
was
a
sere
and
desolate
land
of
low
hills
and
barren
windswept
plains
.
The
rivers
they
crossed
were
dry
as
dead
men
’
s
bones
.
Their
mounts
subsisted
on
the
tough
brown
devilgrass
that
grew
in
clumps
at
the
base
of
rocks
and
dead
trees
.
Dany
sent
outriders
ranging
ahead
of
the
column
,
but
they
found
neither
wells
nor
springs
,
only
bitter
pools
,
shallow
and
stagnant
,
shrinking
in
the
hot
sun
.
The
deeper
they
rode
into
the
waste
,
the
smaller
the
pools
became
,
while
the
distance
between
them
grew
.
If
there
were
gods
in
this
trackless
wilderness
of
stone
and
sand
and
red
clay
,
they
were
hard
dry
gods
,
deaf
to
prayers
for
rain
.
Wine
gave
out
first
,
and
soon
thereafter
the
clotted
mare
’
s
milk
the
horselords
loved
better
than
mead
.
Then
their
stores
of
flatbread
and
dried
meat
were
exhausted
as
well
.
Their
hunters
found
no
game
,
and
only
the
flesh
of
their
dead
horses
filled
their
bellies
.
Death
followed
death
.
Weak
children
,
wrinkled
old
women
,
the
sick
and
the
stupid
and
the
heedless
,
the
cruel
land
claimed
them
all
.
Doreah
grew
gaunt
and
hollow
-
eyed
,
and
her
soft
golden
hair
turned
brittle
as
straw
.
