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- Джордж Мартин
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- Стр. 646/853
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One
moment
he
was
asleep
;
the
next
,
awake
.
Kyra
nestled
against
him
,
one
arm
draped
lightly
over
his
,
her
breasts
brushing
his
back
.
He
could
hear
her
breathing
,
soft
and
steady
.
The
sheet
was
tangled
about
them
.
It
was
the
black
of
night
.
The
bedchamber
was
dark
and
still
.
What
is
it
?
Did
I
hear
something
?
Someone
?
Wind
sighed
faintly
against
the
shutters
.
Somewhere
,
far
off
,
he
heard
the
yowl
of
a
cat
in
heat
.
Nothing
else
.
Sleep
,
Greyjoy
,
he
told
himself
.
The
castle
is
quiet
,
and
you
have
guards
posted
.
At
your
door
,
at
the
gates
,
on
the
armory
.
He
might
have
put
it
down
to
a
bad
dream
,
but
he
did
not
remember
dreaming
.
Kyra
had
worn
him
out
.
Until
Theon
had
sent
for
her
,
she
had
lived
all
of
her
eighteen
years
in
the
winter
town
without
ever
setting
foot
inside
the
walls
of
the
castle
.
She
came
to
him
wet
and
eager
and
lithe
as
a
weasel
,
and
there
had
been
a
certain
undeniable
spice
to
fucking
a
common
tavern
wench
in
Lord
Eddard
Stark
’
s
own
bed
.
She
murmured
sleepily
as
Theon
slid
out
from
under
her
arm
and
got
to
his
feet
.
A
few
embers
still
smoldered
in
the
hearth
.
Wex
slept
on
the
floor
at
the
foot
of
the
bed
,
rolled
up
inside
his
cloak
and
dead
to
the
world
.
Nothing
moved
.
Theon
crossed
to
the
window
and
threw
open
the
shutters
.
Night
touched
him
with
cold
fingers
,
and
gooseprickles
rose
on
his
bare
skin
.
He
leaned
against
the
stone
sill
and
looked
out
on
dark
towers
,
empty
yards
,
black
sky
,
and
more
stars
than
a
man
could
ever
count
if
he
lived
to
be
a
hundred
.
A
half
-
moon
floated
above
the
Bell
Tower
and
cast
its
reflection
on
the
roof
of
the
glass
gardens
.
He
heard
no
alarms
,
no
voices
,
not
so
much
as
a
footfall
.
All
’
s
well
,
Greyjoy
.
Hear
the
quiet
?
You
ought
to
be
drunk
with
joy
.
You
took
Winterfell
with
fewer
than
thirty
men
,
a
feat
to
sing
of
.
Theon
started
back
to
bed
.
He
’
d
roll
Kyra
on
her
back
and
fuck
her
again
,
that
ought
to
banish
these
phantoms
.
Her
gasps
and
giggles
would
make
a
welcome
respite
from
this
silence
.
He
stopped
.
He
had
grown
so
used
to
the
howling
of
the
direwolves
that
he
scarcely
heard
it
anymore
.
.
.
but
some
part
of
him
,
some
hunter
’
s
instinct
,
heard
its
absence
.
Urzen
stood
outside
his
door
,
a
sinewy
man
with
a
round
shield
slung
over
his
back
.
"
The
wolves
are
quiet
,
"
Theon
told
him
.
"
Go
see
what
they
’
re
doing
,
and
come
straight
back
.
"
The
thought
of
the
direwolves
running
loose
gave
him
a
queasy
feeling
.
He
remembered
the
day
in
the
wolfswood
when
the
wildlings
had
attacked
Bran
.
Summer
and
Grey
Wind
had
torn
them
to
pieces
.
