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- Джордж Мартин
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- Стр. 435/853
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The
Hound
snorted
.
"
They
trained
you
well
,
little
bird
.
"
He
conducted
her
to
the
lower
bailey
,
where
a
crowd
had
gathered
around
the
archery
butts
.
Men
moved
aside
to
let
them
through
.
She
could
hear
Lord
Gyles
coughing
.
Loitering
stablehands
eyed
her
insolently
,
but
Ser
Horas
Redwyne
averted
his
gaze
as
she
passed
,
and
his
brother
Hobber
pretended
not
to
see
her
.
A
yellow
cat
was
dying
on
the
ground
,
mewling
piteously
,
a
crossbow
quarrel
through
its
ribs
.
Sansa
stepped
around
it
,
feeling
ill
.
Ser
Dontos
approached
on
his
broomstick
horse
;
since
he
’
d
been
too
drunk
to
mount
his
destrier
at
the
tourney
,
the
king
had
decreed
that
henceforth
he
must
always
go
horsed
.
"
Be
brave
,
"
he
whispered
,
squeezing
her
arm
.
Joffrey
stood
in
the
center
of
the
throng
,
winding
an
ornate
crossbow
.
Ser
Boros
and
Ser
Meryn
were
with
him
.
The
sight
of
them
was
enough
to
tie
her
insides
in
knots
.
"
Your
Grace
.
"
She
fell
to
her
knees
.
"
Kneeling
won
’
t
save
you
now
,
"
the
king
said
.
"
Stand
up
.
You
’
re
here
to
answer
for
your
brother
’
s
latest
treasons
.
"
"
Your
Grace
,
whatever
my
traitor
brother
has
done
,
I
had
no
part
.
You
know
that
,
I
beg
you
,
please
—
"
"
Get
her
up
!
"
The
Hound
pulled
her
to
her
feet
,
not
ungently
.
"
Ser
Lancel
,
"
Joff
said
,
"
tell
her
of
this
outrage
.
"
