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- Джордж Мартин
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- Битва королей
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- Стр. 462/853
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it
was
only
when
his
torchlight
brushed
against
them
that
Jon
glimpsed
a
flash
of
green
.
Faintly
,
he
heard
the
sound
of
water
flowing
over
rocks
.
Ghost
vanished
in
the
underbrush
.
Jon
struggled
after
him
,
listening
to
the
call
of
the
brook
,
to
the
leaves
sighing
in
the
wind
.
Branches
clutched
at
his
cloak
,
while
overhead
thick
limbs
twined
together
and
shut
out
the
stars
.
He
found
Ghost
lapping
from
the
stream
.
"
Ghost
,
"
he
called
,
"
to
me
.
Now
.
"
When
the
direwolf
raised
his
head
,
his
eyes
glowed
red
and
baleful
,
and
water
streamed
down
from
his
jaws
like
slaver
.
There
was
something
fierce
and
terrible
about
him
in
that
instant
.
And
then
he
was
off
,
bounding
past
Jon
,
racing
through
the
trees
.
"
Ghost
,
no
,
stay
,
"
he
shouted
,
but
the
wolf
paid
no
heed
.
The
lean
white
shape
was
swallowed
by
the
dark
,
and
Jon
had
only
two
choices
—
to
climb
the
hill
again
,
alone
,
or
to
follow
.
He
followed
,
angry
,
holding
the
torch
out
low
so
he
could
see
the
rocks
that
threatened
to
trip
him
with
every
step
,
the
thick
roots
that
seemed
to
grab
at
his
feet
,
the
holes
where
a
man
could
twist
an
ankle
.
Every
few
feet
he
called
again
for
Ghost
,
but
the
night
wind
was
swirling
amongst
the
trees
and
it
drank
the
words
.
This
is
madness
,
he
thought
as
he
plunged
deeper
into
the
trees
.
He
was
about
to
turn
back
when
he
glimpsed
a
flash
of
white
off
ahead
and
to
the
right
,
back
toward
the
hill
.
He
jogged
after
it
,
cursing
under
his
breath
.
A
quarter
-
way
around
the
Fist
he
chased
the
wolf
before
he
lost
him
again
.
Finally
he
stopped
to
catch
his
breath
amidst
the
scrub
,
thorns
,
and
tumbled
rocks
at
the
base
of
the
hill
.
Beyond
the
torchlight
,
the
dark
pressed
close
.
A
soft
scrabbling
noise
made
him
turn
.
Jon
moved
toward
the
sound
,
stepping
carefully
among
boulders
and
thornbushes
.
Behind
a
fallen
tree
,
he
came
on
Ghost
again
.
The
direwolf
was
digging
furiously
,
kicking
up
dirt
.
"
What
have
you
found
?
"
Jon
lowered
the
torch
,
revealing
a
rounded
mound
of
soft
earth
.
A
grave
,
he
thought
.
But
whose
?
He
knelt
,
jammed
the
torch
into
the
ground
beside
him
.
The
soil
was
loose
,
sandy
.
Jon
pulled
it
out
by
the
fistful
.
There
were
no
stones
,
no
roots
.
Whatever
was
here
had
been
put
here
recently
.
Two
feet
down
,
his
fingers
touched
cloth
.
He
had
been
expecting
a
corpse
,
fearing
a
corpse
,
but
this
was
something
else
.
He
pushed
against
the
fabric
and
felt
small
,
hard
shapes
beneath
,
unyielding
.
There
was
no
smell
,
no
sign
of
graveworms
.
Ghost
backed
off
and
sat
on
his
haunches
,
watching
.
Jon
brushed
the
loose
soil
away
to
reveal
a
rounded
bundle
perhaps
two
feet
across
.
He
jammed
his
fingers
down
around
the
edges
and
worked
it
loose
.
When
he
pulled
it
free
,
whatever
was
inside
shifted
and
clinked
.
Treasure
,
he
thought
,
but
the
shapes
were
wrong
to
be
coins
,
and
the
sound
was
wrong
for
metal
.
A
length
of
frayed
rope
bound
the
bundle
together
.
Jon
unsheathed
his
dagger
and
cut
it
,
groped
for
the
edges
of
the
cloth
,
and
pulled
