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- Джордж Мартин
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"
Blue
.
As
bright
as
blue
stars
,
and
as
cold
.
"
She
has
seen
them
,
he
thought
.
Craster
lied
.
"
Will
you
take
me
?
Just
so
far
as
the
Wall
—
"
"
We
do
not
ride
for
the
Wall
.
We
ride
north
,
after
Mance
Rayder
and
these
Others
,
these
white
shadows
and
their
wights
.
We
seek
them
,
Gilly
.
Your
babe
would
not
be
safe
with
us
.
"
Her
fear
was
plain
on
her
face
.
"
You
will
come
back
,
though
.
When
your
warring
’
s
done
,
you
’
ll
pass
this
way
again
.
"
"
We
may
.
"
If
any
of
us
still
live
.
"
That
’
s
for
the
Old
Bear
to
say
,
the
one
you
call
the
Lord
Crow
.
I
’
m
only
his
squire
.
I
do
not
choose
the
road
I
ride
.
"
"
No
.
"
He
could
hear
the
defeat
in
her
voice
.
"
Sorry
to
be
of
trouble
,
m
’
lord
.
I
only
.
.
.
they
said
the
king
keeps
people
safe
,
and
I
thought
.
.
.
"
Despairing
,
she
ran
,
Sam
’
s
cloak
flapping
behind
her
like
great
black
wings
.
Jon
watched
her
go
,
his
joy
in
the
morning
’
s
brittle
beauty
gone
.
Damn
her
,
he
thought
resentfully
,
and
damn
Sam
twice
for
sending
her
to
me
.
What
did
he
think
I
could
do
for
her
?
We
’
re
here
to
fight
wildlings
,
not
save
them
.
Other
men
were
crawling
from
their
shelters
,
yawning
and
stretching
.
The
magic
was
already
faded
,
icy
brightness
turning
back
to
common
dew
in
the
light
of
the
rising
sun
.
Someone
had
gotten
a
fire
started
;
he
could
smell
woodsmoke
drifting
through
the
trees
,
and
the
smoky
scent
of
bacon
.
Jon
took
down
his
cloak
and
snapped
it
against
the
rock
,
shattering
the
thin
crust
of
ice
that
had
formed
in
the
night
,
then
gathered
up
Longclaw
and
shrugged
an
arm
through
a
shoulder
strap
.
A
few
yards
away
he
made
water
into
a
frozen
bush
,
his
piss
steaming
in
the
cold
air
and
melting
the
ice
wherever
it
fell
.
Afterward
he
laced
up
his
black
wool
breeches
and
followed
the
smells
.
