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- Джордж Мартин
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- Стр. 68/853
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Morn
,
noon
,
and
night
they
came
,
old
folks
and
little
children
,
big
men
and
small
ones
,
barefoot
girls
and
women
with
babes
at
their
breasts
.
Some
drove
farm
wagons
or
bumped
along
in
the
back
of
ox
carts
.
More
rode
:
draft
horses
,
ponies
,
mules
,
donkeys
,
anything
that
would
walk
or
run
or
roll
.
One
woman
led
a
milk
cow
with
a
little
girl
on
its
back
.
Arya
saw
a
smith
pushing
a
wheelbarrow
with
his
tools
inside
,
hammers
and
tongs
and
even
an
anvil
,
and
a
little
while
later
a
different
man
with
a
different
wheelbarrow
,
only
inside
this
one
were
two
babies
in
a
blanket
.
Most
came
on
foot
,
with
their
goods
on
their
shoulders
and
weary
,
wary
looks
upon
their
faces
.
They
walked
south
,
toward
the
city
,
toward
King
’
s
Landing
,
and
only
one
in
a
hundred
spared
so
much
as
a
word
for
Yoren
and
his
charges
,
traveling
north
.
She
wondered
why
no
one
else
was
going
the
same
way
as
them
.
Many
of
the
travelers
were
armed
;
Arya
saw
daggers
and
dirks
,
scythes
and
axes
,
and
here
and
there
a
sword
.
Some
had
made
clubs
from
tree
limbs
,
or
carved
knobby
staffs
.
They
fingered
their
weapons
and
gave
lingering
looks
at
the
wagons
as
they
rolled
by
,
yet
in
the
end
they
let
the
column
pass
.
Thirty
was
too
many
,
no
matter
what
they
had
in
those
wagons
.
Look
with
your
eyes
,
Syrio
had
said
,
listen
with
your
ears
.
One
day
a
madwoman
began
to
scream
at
them
from
the
side
of
the
road
.
"
Fools
!
They
’
ll
kill
you
,
fools
!
"
She
was
scarecrow
-
thin
,
with
hollow
eyes
and
bloody
feet
.
The
next
morning
,
a
sleek
merchant
on
a
grey
mare
reined
up
by
Yoren
and
offered
to
buy
his
wagons
and
everything
in
them
for
a
quarter
of
their
worth
.
"
It
’
s
war
,
they
’
ll
take
what
they
want
,
you
’
ll
do
better
selling
to
me
,
my
friend
.
"
Yoren
turned
away
with
a
twist
of
his
crooked
shoulders
,
and
spat
.
Arya
noticed
the
first
grave
that
same
day
;
a
small
mound
beside
the
road
,
dug
for
a
child
.
A
crystal
had
been
set
in
the
soft
earth
,
and
Lommy
wanted
to
take
it
until
the
Bull
told
him
he
’
d
better
leave
the
dead
alone
.
A
few
leagues
farther
on
,
Praed
pointed
out
more
graves
,
a
whole
row
freshly
dug
.
After
that
,
a
day
hardly
passed
without
one
.
One
time
Arya
woke
in
the
dark
,
frightened
for
no
reason
she
could
name
.
Above
,
the
Red
Sword
shared
the
sky
with
half
a
thousand
stars
.
The
night
seemed
oddly
quiet
to
her
,
though
she
could
hear
Yoren
’
s
muttered
snores
,
the
crackle
of
the
fire
,
even
the
muffled
stirrings
of
the
donkeys
.
Yet
somehow
it
felt
as
though
the
world
were
holding
its
breath
,
and
the
silence
made
her
shiver
.
She
went
back
to
sleep
clutching
Needle
.
Come
morning
,
when
Praed
did
not
awaken
,
Arya
realized
that
it
had
been
his
coughing
she
had
missed
.
They
dug
a
grave
of
their
own
then
,
burying
the
sellsword
where
he
’
d
slept
.
Yoren
stripped
him
of
his
valuables
before
they
threw
the
dirt
on
him
.
One
man
claimed
his
boots
,
another
his
dagger
.
His
mail
-
shirt
and
helm
were
parceled
out
.
His
longsword
Yoren
handed
to
the
Bull
.
"
Arms
like
yours
,
might
be
you
can
learn
to
use
this
,
"
he
told
him
.
A
boy
called
Tarber
tossed
a
handful
of
acorns
on
top
of
Praed
’
s
body
,
so
an
oak
might
grow
to
mark
his
place
.
