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- Джордж Мартин
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"
Sam
,
have
you
taken
leave
of
all
your
sense
?
We
may
not
even
return
this
way
.
And
if
we
do
,
do
you
think
the
Old
Bear
is
going
to
let
you
pack
off
one
of
Craster
’
s
wives
?
"
"
I
thought
.
.
.
maybe
by
then
I
could
think
of
a
way
.
.
.
"
"
I
have
no
time
for
this
,
I
have
horses
to
groom
and
saddle
.
"
Jon
walked
away
as
confused
as
he
was
angry
.
Sam
’
s
heart
was
a
big
as
the
rest
of
him
,
but
for
all
his
reading
he
could
be
as
thick
as
Grenn
at
times
.
It
was
impossible
,
and
dishonorable
besides
.
So
why
do
I
feel
so
ashamed
?
Jon
took
his
accustomed
position
at
Mormont
’
s
side
as
the
Night
’
s
Watch
streamed
out
past
the
skulls
on
Craster
’
s
gate
.
They
struck
off
north
and
west
along
a
crooked
game
trail
.
Melting
ice
dripped
down
all
about
them
,
a
slower
sort
of
rain
with
its
own
soft
music
.
North
of
the
compound
,
the
brook
was
in
full
spate
,
choked
with
leaves
and
bits
of
wood
,
but
the
scouts
had
found
where
the
ford
lay
and
the
column
was
able
to
splash
across
.
The
water
ran
as
high
as
a
horse
’
s
belly
.
Ghost
swam
,
emerging
on
the
bank
with
his
white
fur
dripping
brown
.
When
he
shook
,
spraying
mud
and
water
in
all
directions
,
Mormont
said
nothing
,
but
on
his
shoulder
the
raven
screeched
.
"
My
lord
,
"
Jon
said
quietly
as
the
wood
closed
in
around
them
once
more
.
"
Craster
has
no
sheep
.
Nor
any
sons
.
"
Mormont
made
no
answer
.
"
At
Winterfell
one
of
the
serving
women
told
us
stories
,
"
Jon
went
on
.
"
She
used
to
say
that
there
were
wildlings
who
would
lay
with
the
Others
to
birth
half
-
human
children
.
"
"
Hearth
tales
.
Does
Craster
seem
less
than
human
to
you
?
"
In
half
a
hundred
ways
.
"
He
gives
his
sons
to
the
wood
.
"
