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- Джордж Мартин
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He
could
see
the
comet
hanging
above
the
Guards
Hall
and
the
Bell
Tower
,
and
farther
back
the
First
Keep
,
squat
and
round
,
its
gargoyles
black
shapes
against
the
bruised
purple
dusk
.
Once
Bran
had
known
every
stone
of
those
buildings
,
inside
and
out
;
he
had
climbed
them
all
,
scampering
up
walls
as
easily
as
other
boys
ran
down
stairs
.
Their
rooftops
had
been
his
secret
places
,
and
the
crows
atop
the
broken
tower
his
special
friends
.
And
then
he
had
fallen
.
Bran
did
not
remember
falling
,
yet
they
said
he
had
,
so
he
supposed
it
must
be
true
.
He
had
almost
died
.
When
he
saw
the
weatherworn
gargoyles
atop
the
First
Keep
where
it
had
happened
,
he
got
a
queer
tight
feeling
in
his
belly
.
And
now
he
could
not
climb
,
nor
walk
nor
run
nor
sword
-
fight
,
and
the
dreams
he
’
d
dreamed
of
knighthood
had
soured
in
his
head
.
Summer
had
howled
the
day
Bran
had
fallen
,
and
for
long
after
as
he
lay
broken
in
his
bed
;
Robb
had
told
him
so
before
he
went
away
to
war
.
Summer
had
mourned
for
him
,
and
Shaggydog
and
Grey
Wind
had
joined
in
his
grief
.
And
the
night
the
bloody
raven
had
brought
word
of
their
father
’
s
death
,
the
wolves
had
known
that
too
.
Bran
had
been
in
the
maester
’
s
turret
with
Rickon
talking
of
the
children
of
the
forest
when
Summer
and
Shaggydog
had
drowned
out
Luwin
with
their
howls
.
Who
are
they
mourning
now
?
Had
some
enemy
slain
the
King
in
the
North
,
who
used
to
be
his
brother
Robb
?
Had
his
bastard
brother
Jon
Snow
fallen
from
the
Wall
?
Had
his
mother
died
,
or
one
of
his
sisters
?
Or
was
this
something
else
,
as
maester
and
septon
and
Old
Nan
seemed
to
think
?
If
I
were
truly
a
direwolf
,
I
would
understand
the
song
,
he
thought
wistfully
.
In
his
wolf
dreams
,
he
could
race
up
the
sides
of
mountains
,
jagged
icy
mountains
taller
than
any
tower
,
and
stand
at
the
summit
beneath
the
full
moon
with
all
the
world
below
him
,
the
way
it
used
to
be
.
"
Oooo
,
"
Bran
cried
tentatively
.
He
cupped
his
hands
around
his
mouth
and
lifted
his
head
to
the
comet
.
"
Ooooooooooooooooooo
,
ahooooooooooooooo
,
"
he
howled
.
It
sounded
stupid
,
high
and
hollow
and
quavering
,
a
little
boy
’
s
howl
,
not
a
wolf
’
s
.
Yet
Summer
gave
answer
,
his
deep
voice
drowning
out
Bran
’
s
thin
one
,
and
Shaggydog
made
it
a
chorus
.
Bran
haroooed
again
.
They
howled
together
,
last
of
their
pack
.
The
noise
brought
a
guard
to
his
door
,
Hayhead
with
the
wen
on
his
nose
.
He
peered
in
,
saw
Bran
howling
out
the
window
,
and
said
,
"
What
’
s
this
,
my
prince
?
"
