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- Джордж Мартин
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- Стр. 453/853
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A
chill
went
through
her
.
The
hill
jutted
above
the
dense
tangle
of
forest
,
rising
solitary
and
sudden
,
its
windswept
heights
visible
from
miles
off
.
The
wildlings
called
it
the
Fist
of
the
First
Men
,
rangers
said
.
It
did
look
like
a
fist
,
Jon
Snow
thought
,
punching
up
through
earth
and
wood
,
its
bare
brown
slopes
knuckled
with
stone
.
He
rode
to
the
top
with
Lord
Mormont
and
the
officers
,
leaving
Ghost
below
under
the
trees
.
The
direwolf
had
run
off
three
times
as
they
climbed
,
twice
returning
reluctantly
to
Jon
’
s
whistle
.
The
third
time
,
the
Lord
Commander
lost
patience
and
snapped
,
"
Let
him
go
,
boy
.
I
want
to
reach
the
crest
before
dusk
.
Find
the
wolf
later
.
"
The
way
up
was
steep
and
stony
,
the
summit
crowned
by
a
chest
-
high
wall
of
tumbled
rocks
.
They
had
to
circle
some
distance
west
before
they
found
a
gap
large
enough
to
admit
the
horses
.
"
This
is
good
ground
,
Thoren
,
"
the
Old
Bear
proclaimed
when
at
last
they
attained
the
top
.
"
We
could
scarce
hope
for
better
.
We
’
ll
make
our
camp
here
to
await
Halfhand
.
"
The
Lord
Commander
swung
down
off
his
saddle
,
dislodging
the
raven
from
his
shoulder
.
Complaining
loudly
,
the
bird
took
to
the
air
.
The
views
atop
the
hill
were
bracing
,
yet
it
was
the
ringwall
that
drew
Jon
’
s
eye
,
the
weathered
grey
stones
with
their
white
patches
of
lichen
,
their
beards
of
green
moss
.
It
was
said
that
the
Fist
had
been
a
ringfort
of
the
First
Men
in
the
Dawn
Age
.
"
An
old
place
,
and
strong
,
"
Thoren
Smallwood
said
.
"
Old
,
"
Mormont
’
s
raven
screamed
as
it
flapped
in
noisy
circles
about
their
heads
.
"
Old
,
old
,
old
.
"
"
Quiet
,
"
Mormont
growled
up
at
the
bird
.
The
Old
Bear
was
too
proud
to
admit
to
weakness
,
but
Jon
was
not
deceived
.
The
strain
of
keeping
up
with
younger
men
was
taking
its
toll
.
"
These
heights
will
be
easy
to
defend
,
if
need
be
,
"
Thoren
pointed
out
as
he
walked
his
horse
along
the
ring
of
stones
,
his
sable
-
trimmed
cloak
stirring
in
the
wind
.
"
Yes
,
this
place
will
do
.
"
The
Old
Bear
lifted
a
hand
to
the
wind
,
and
the
raven
landed
on
his
forearm
,
claws
scrabbling
against
his
black
ringmail
.
"
What
about
water
,
my
lord
?
"
Jon
wondered
.
