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- Джордж Мартин
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"
There
she
is
!
"
Joffrey
shouted
,
pointing
.
Sandor
Clegane
cantered
briskly
through
the
gates
astride
Sansa
’
s
chestnut
courser
.
The
girl
was
seated
behind
,
both
arms
tight
around
the
Hound
’
s
chest
.
Tyrion
called
to
her
.
"
Are
you
hurt
,
Lady
Sansa
?
"
Blood
was
trickling
down
Sansa
’
s
brow
from
a
deep
gash
on
her
scalp
.
"
They
.
.
.
they
were
throwing
things
.
.
.
rocks
and
filth
,
eggs
.
.
.
I
tried
to
tell
them
,
I
had
no
bread
to
give
them
.
A
man
tried
to
pull
me
from
the
saddle
.
The
Hound
killed
him
,
I
think
.
.
.
his
arm
.
.
.
"
Her
eyes
widened
and
she
put
a
hand
over
her
mouth
.
"
He
cut
off
his
arm
.
"
Clegane
lifted
her
to
the
ground
.
His
white
cloak
was
torn
and
stained
,
and
blood
seeped
through
a
jagged
tear
in
his
left
sleeve
.
"
The
little
bird
’
s
bleeding
.
Someone
take
her
back
to
her
cage
and
see
to
that
cut
.
"
Maester
Frenken
scurried
forward
to
obey
.
"
They
did
for
Santagar
,
"
the
Hound
continued
.
"
Four
men
held
him
down
and
took
turns
bashing
at
his
head
with
a
cobblestone
.
I
gutted
one
,
not
that
it
did
Ser
Aron
much
good
.
"
Lady
Tanda
approached
him
.
"
My
daughter
—
"
"
Never
saw
her
.
"
The
Hound
glanced
around
the
yard
,
scowling
.
"
Where
’
s
my
horse
?
If
anything
’
s
happened
to
that
horse
,
someone
’
s
going
to
pay
.
"
"
He
was
running
with
us
for
a
time
,
"
Tyrion
said
,
"
but
I
don
’
t
know
what
became
of
him
after
that
.
"
"
Fire
!
"
a
voice
screamed
down
from
atop
the
barbican
.
"
My
lords
,
there
’
s
smoke
in
the
city
.
Flea
Bottom
’
s
afire
.
"
