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- Джордж Мартин
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"
Wetly
.
"
The
fat
boy
managed
a
smile
.
"
Nothing
has
killed
me
yet
,
though
.
"
"
Good
.
Craster
’
s
Keep
is
just
ahead
.
If
the
gods
are
good
,
he
’
ll
let
us
sleep
by
his
fire
.
"
Sam
looked
dubious
.
"
Dolorous
Edd
says
Craster
’
s
a
terrible
savage
.
He
marries
his
daughters
and
obeys
no
laws
but
those
he
makes
himself
.
And
Dywen
told
Grenn
he
’
s
got
black
blood
in
his
veins
.
His
mother
was
a
wildling
woman
who
lay
with
a
ranger
,
so
he
’
s
a
bas
.
.
.
"
Suddenly
he
realized
what
he
was
about
to
say
.
"
A
bastard
,
"
Jon
said
with
a
laugh
.
"
You
can
say
it
,
Sam
.
I
’
ve
heard
the
word
before
.
"
He
put
the
spurs
to
his
surefooted
little
garron
.
"
I
need
to
hunt
down
Ser
Ottyn
.
Be
careful
around
Craster
’
s
women
.
"
As
if
Samwell
Tarly
needed
warning
on
that
score
.
"
We
’
ll
talk
later
,
after
we
’
ve
made
camp
.
"
Jon
carried
the
word
back
to
Ser
Ottyn
Wythers
,
plodding
along
with
the
rear
guard
.
A
small
prune
-
faced
man
of
an
age
with
Mormont
,
Ser
Ottyn
always
looked
tired
,
even
at
Castle
Black
,
and
the
rain
had
beaten
him
down
unmercifully
.
"
Welcome
tidings
,
"
he
said
.
"
This
wet
has
soaked
my
bones
,
and
even
my
saddle
sores
complain
of
saddle
sores
.
"
On
his
way
back
,
Jon
swung
wide
of
the
column
’
s
line
of
march
and
took
a
shorter
path
through
the
thick
of
the
wood
.
The
sounds
of
man
and
horse
diminished
,
swallowed
up
by
the
wet
green
wild
,
and
soon
enough
he
could
hear
only
the
steady
wash
of
rain
against
leaf
and
tree
and
rock
.
It
was
mid
-
afternoon
,
yet
the
forest
seemed
as
dark
as
dusk
.
Jon
wove
a
path
between
rocks
and
puddles
,
past
great
oaks
,
grey
-
green
sentinels
,
and
black
-
barked
ironwoods
.
In
places
the
branches
wove
a
canopy
overhead
and
he
was
given
a
moment
’
s
respite
from
the
drumming
of
the
rain
against
his
head
.
As
he
rode
past
a
lightning
-
blasted
chestnut
tree
overgrown
with
wild
white
roses
,
he
heard
something
rustling
in
the
underbrush
.
"
Ghost
,
"
he
called
out
.
"
Ghost
,
to
me
.
"
But
it
was
Dywen
who
emerged
from
the
greenery
,
forking
a
shaggy
grey
garron
with
Grenn
ahorse
beside
him
.
The
Old
Bear
had
deployed
outriders
to
either
side
of
the
main
column
,
to
screen
their
march
and
warn
of
the
approach
of
any
enemies
,
and
even
there
he
took
no
chances
,
sending
the
men
out
in
pairs
.
"
Ah
,
it
’
s
you
,
Lord
Snow
.
"
Dywen
smiled
an
oaken
smile
;
his
teeth
were
carved
of
wood
,
and
fit
badly
.
"
Thought
me
and
the
boy
had
us
one
o
’
them
Others
to
deal
with
.
Lose
your
wolf
?
"
