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- Джордж Мартин
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- Стр. 661/853
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The
Skirling
Pass
was
really
a
series
of
passes
,
a
long
twisting
course
that
went
up
around
a
succession
of
icy
wind
-
carved
peaks
and
down
through
hidden
valleys
that
seldom
saw
the
sun
.
Apart
from
his
companions
,
Jon
had
glimpsed
no
living
man
since
they
’
d
left
the
wood
behind
and
begun
to
make
their
way
upward
.
The
Frostfangs
were
as
cruel
as
any
place
the
gods
had
made
,
and
as
inimical
to
men
.
The
wind
cut
like
a
knife
up
here
,
and
shrilled
in
the
night
like
a
mother
mourning
her
slain
children
.
What
few
trees
they
saw
were
stunted
,
grotesque
things
growing
sideways
out
of
cracks
and
fissures
.
Tumbled
shelves
of
rock
often
overhung
the
trail
,
fringed
with
hanging
icicles
that
looked
like
long
white
teeth
from
a
distance
.
Yet
even
so
,
Jon
Snow
was
not
sorry
he
had
come
.
There
were
wonders
here
as
well
.
He
had
seen
sunlight
flashing
on
icy
thin
waterfalls
as
they
plunged
over
the
lips
of
sheer
stone
cliffs
,
and
a
mountain
meadow
full
of
autumn
wildflowers
,
blue
coldsnaps
and
bright
scarlet
frostfires
and
stands
of
piper
’
s
grass
in
russet
and
gold
.
He
had
peered
down
ravines
so
deep
and
black
they
seemed
certain
to
end
in
some
hell
,
and
he
had
ridden
his
garron
over
a
wind
-
eaten
bridge
of
natural
stone
with
nothing
but
sky
to
either
side
.
Eagles
nested
in
the
heights
and
came
down
to
hunt
the
valleys
,
circling
effortlessly
on
great
blue
-
grey
wings
that
seemed
almost
part
of
the
sky
.
Once
he
had
watched
a
shadowcat
stalk
a
ram
,
flowing
down
the
mountainside
like
liquid
smoke
until
it
was
ready
to
pounce
.
Now
it
is
our
turn
to
pounce
.
He
wished
he
could
move
as
sure
and
silent
as
that
shadowcat
,
and
kill
as
quickly
.
Longclaw
was
sheathed
across
his
back
,
but
he
might
not
have
room
to
use
it
.
He
carried
dirk
and
dagger
for
closer
work
.
They
will
have
weapons
as
well
,
and
I
am
not
armored
.
He
wondered
who
would
prove
the
shadowcat
by
night
’
s
end
,
and
who
the
ram
.
For
a
long
way
they
stayed
to
the
trail
,
following
its
twists
and
turns
as
it
snaked
along
the
side
of
the
mountain
,
upward
,
ever
upward
.
Sometimes
the
mountain
folded
back
on
itself
and
they
lost
sight
of
the
fire
,
but
soon
or
late
it
would
always
reappear
.
The
path
Stonesnake
chose
would
never
have
served
for
the
horses
.
In
places
Jon
had
to
put
his
back
to
the
cold
stone
and
shuffle
along
sideways
like
a
crab
,
inch
by
inch
.
Even
where
the
track
widened
it
was
treacherous
;
there
were
cracks
big
enough
to
swallow
a
man
’
s
leg
,
rubble
to
stumble
over
,
hollow
places
where
the
water
pooled
by
day
and
froze
hard
by
night
.
One
step
and
then
another
,
Jon
told
himself
.
One
step
and
then
another
,
and
I
will
not
fall
.
He
had
not
shaved
since
leaving
the
Fist
of
the
First
Men
,
and
the
hair
on
his
lip
was
soon
stiff
with
frost
.
Two
hours
into
the
climb
,
the
wind
kicked
up
so
fiercely
that
it
was
all
he
could
do
to
hunch
down
and
cling
to
the
rock
,
praying
he
would
not
be
blown
off
the
mountain
.
One
step
and
then
another
,
he
resumed
when
the
gale
subsided
.
One
step
and
then
another
,
and
I
will
not
fall
.
Soon
they
were
high
enough
so
that
looking
down
was
best
not
considered
.
There
was
nothing
below
but
yawning
blackness
,
nothing
above
but
moon
and
stars
.
"
The
mountain
is
your
mother
,
"
Stonesnake
had
told
him
during
an
easier
climb
a
few
days
past
.
"
Cling
to
her
,
press
your
face
up
against
her
teats
,
and
she
won
’
t
drop
you
.
"
Jon
had
made
a
joke
of
it
,
saying
how
he
’
d
always
wondered
who
his
mother
was
,
but
never
thought
to
find
her
in
the
Frostfangs
.
It
did
not
seem
nearly
so
amusing
now
.
One
step
and
then
another
,
he
thought
,
clinging
tight
.
The
narrow
track
ended
abruptly
where
a
massive
shoulder
of
black
granite
thrust
out
from
the
side
of
the
mountain
.
After
the
bright
moonlight
,
its
shadow
was
so
black
that
it
felt
like
stepping
into
a
cave
.
"
Straight
up
here
,
"
the
ranger
said
in
a
quiet
voice
.
"
We
want
to
get
above
them
.
"
He
peeled
off
his
gloves
,
tucked
them
through
his
belt
,
tied
one
end
of
his
rope
around
his
waist
,
the
other
end
around
Jon
.
"
Follow
me
when
the
rope
grows
taut
.
"
The
ranger
did
not
wait
for
an
answer
but
started
at
once
,
moving
upward
with
fingers
and
feet
,
faster
than
Jon
would
have
believed
.
The
long
rope
unwound
slowly
.
Jon
watched
him
closely
,
making
note
of
how
he
went
,
and
where
he
found
each
handhold
,
and
when
the
last
loop
of
hemp
uncoiled
,
he
took
off
his
own
gloves
and
followed
,
much
more
slowly
.
Stonesnake
had
passed
the
rope
around
the
smooth
spike
of
rock
he
was
waiting
on
,
but
as
soon
as
Jon
reached
him
he
shook
it
loose
and
was
off
again
.
This
time
there
was
no
convenient
cleft
when
he
reached
the
end
of
their
tether
,
so
he
took
out
his
felt
-
headed
hammer
and
drove
a
spike
deep
into
a
crack
in
the
stone
with
a
series
of
gentle
taps
.
Soft
as
the
sounds
were
,
they
echoed
off
the
stone
so
loudly
that
Jon
winced
with
every
blow
,
certain
that
the
wildlings
must
hear
them
too
.
When
the
spike
was
secure
,
Stonesnake
secured
the
rope
to
it
,
and
Jon
started
after
him
.
Suck
on
the
mountain
’
s
teat
,
he
reminded
himself
.
Don
’
t
look
down
.
Keep
your
weight
above
your
feet
.
Don
’
t
look
down
.
Look
at
the
rock
in
front
of
you
.
There
’
s
a
good
handhold
,
yes
.
Don
’
t
look
down
.
I
can
catch
a
breath
on
that
ledge
there
,
all
I
need
to
do
is
reach
it
.
Never
look
down
.
