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- Джордж Мартин
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There
is
,
thought
Jon
,
remembering
the
night
in
the
Lord
Commander
’
s
chambers
.
It
smells
like
death
.
Suddenly
he
was
not
hungry
anymore
.
He
gave
his
stew
to
Grenn
,
who
looked
in
need
of
an
extra
supper
to
warm
him
against
the
night
.
The
wind
was
blowing
briskly
when
he
left
.
By
morning
,
frost
would
cover
the
ground
,
and
the
tent
ropes
would
be
stiff
and
frozen
.
A
few
fingers
of
spiced
wine
sloshed
in
the
bottom
of
the
kettle
.
Jon
fed
fresh
wood
to
the
fire
and
put
the
kettle
over
the
flames
to
reheat
.
He
flexed
his
fingers
as
he
waited
,
squeezing
and
spreading
until
the
hand
tingled
.
The
first
watch
had
taken
up
their
stations
around
the
perimeter
of
the
camp
.
Torches
flickered
all
along
the
ringwall
.
The
night
was
moonless
,
but
a
thousand
stars
shone
overhead
.
A
sound
rose
out
of
the
darkness
,
faint
and
distant
,
but
unmistakable
:
the
howling
of
wolves
.
Their
voices
rose
and
fell
,
a
chilly
song
,
and
lonely
.
It
made
the
hairs
rise
along
the
back
of
his
neck
.
Across
the
fire
,
a
pair
of
red
eyes
regarded
him
from
the
shadows
.
The
light
of
the
flames
made
them
glow
.
"
Ghost
,
"
Jon
breathed
,
surprised
.
"
So
you
came
inside
after
all
,
eh
?
"
The
white
wolf
often
hunted
all
night
;
he
had
not
expected
to
see
him
again
till
daybreak
.
"
Was
the
hunting
so
bad
?
"
he
asked
.
"
Here
.
To
me
,
Ghost
.
"
The
direwolf
circled
the
fire
,
sniffing
Jon
,
sniffing
the
wind
,
never
still
.
It
did
not
seem
as
if
he
were
after
meat
right
now
.
When
the
dead
came
walking
,
Ghost
knew
.
He
woke
me
,
warned
me
.
Alarmed
,
he
got
to
his
feet
.
"
Is
something
out
there
?
Ghost
,
do
you
have
a
scent
?
"
Dywen
said
he
smelled
cold
.
The
direwolf
loped
off
,
stopped
,
looked
back
.
He
wants
me
to
follow
.
Pulling
up
the
hood
of
his
cloak
,
Jon
walked
away
from
the
tents
,
away
from
the
warmth
of
his
fire
,
past
the
lines
of
shaggy
little
garrons
.
One
of
the
horses
whickered
nervously
when
Ghost
padded
by
.
Jon
soothed
him
with
a
word
and
paused
to
stroke
his
muzzle
.
He
could
hear
the
wind
whistling
through
cracks
in
the
rocks
as
they
neared
the
ringwall
.
A
voice
called
out
a
challenge
.
Jon
stepped
into
the
torchlight
.
"
I
need
to
fetch
water
for
the
Lord
Commander
.
"
"
Go
on
,
then
,
"
the
guard
said
.
"
Be
quick
about
it
.
"
Huddled
beneath
his
black
cloak
,
with
his
hood
drawn
up
against
the
wind
,
the
man
never
even
looked
to
see
if
he
had
a
bucket
.
Jon
slipped
sideways
between
two
sharpened
stakes
while
Ghost
slid
beneath
them
.
A
torch
had
been
thrust
down
into
a
crevice
,
its
flames
flying
pale
orange
banners
when
the
gusts
came
.
He
snatched
it
up
as
he
squeezed
through
the
gap
between
the
stones
.
Ghost
went
racing
down
the
hill
.
Jon
followed
more
slowly
,
the
torch
thrust
out
before
him
as
he
made
his
descent
.
The
camp
sounds
faded
behind
him
.
The
night
was
black
,
the
slope
steep
,
stony
,
and
uneven
.
A
moment
’
s
inattention
would
be
a
sure
way
to
break
an
ankle
.
.
.
or
his
neck
.
What
am
I
doing
?
he
asked
himself
as
he
picked
his
way
down
.
The
trees
stood
beneath
him
,
warriors
armored
in
bark
and
leaf
,
deployed
in
their
silent
ranks
awaiting
the
command
to
storm
the
hill
.
Black
,
they
seemed
.
.
.
