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- Джордж Мартин
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- Стр. 687/853
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The
call
came
from
behind
him
,
softer
than
a
whisper
,
but
strong
too
.
Can
a
shout
be
silent
?
He
turned
his
head
,
searching
for
his
brother
,
for
a
glimpse
of
a
lean
grey
shape
moving
beneath
the
trees
,
but
there
was
nothing
,
only
.
.
.
A
weirwood
.
It
seemed
to
sprout
from
solid
rock
,
its
pale
roots
twisting
up
from
a
myriad
of
fissures
and
hairline
cracks
.
The
tree
was
slender
compared
to
other
weirwoods
he
had
seen
,
no
more
than
a
sapling
,
yet
it
was
growing
as
he
watched
,
its
limbs
thickening
as
they
reached
for
the
sky
.
Wary
,
he
circled
the
smooth
white
trunk
until
he
came
to
the
face
.
Red
eyes
looked
at
him
.
Fierce
eyes
they
were
,
yet
glad
to
see
him
.
The
weirwood
had
his
brother
’
s
face
.
Had
his
brother
always
had
three
eyes
?
Not
always
,
came
the
silent
shout
.
Not
before
the
crow
.
He
sniffed
at
the
bark
,
smelled
wolf
and
tree
and
boy
,
but
behind
that
there
were
other
scents
,
the
rich
brown
smell
of
warm
earth
and
the
hard
grey
smell
of
stone
and
something
else
,
something
terrible
.
Death
,
he
knew
.
He
was
smelling
death
.
He
cringed
back
,
his
hair
bristling
,
and
bared
his
fangs
.
Don
’
t
be
afraid
,
I
like
it
in
the
dark
.
No
one
can
see
you
,
but
you
can
see
them
.
But
first
you
have
to
open
your
eyes
.
See
?
Like
this
.
And
the
tree
reached
down
and
touched
him
.
And
suddenly
he
was
back
in
the
mountains
,
his
paws
sunk
deep
in
a
drift
of
snow
as
he
stood
upon
the
edge
of
a
great
precipice
.
Before
him
the
Skirling
Pass
opened
up
into
airy
emptiness
,
and
a
long
vee
-
shaped
valley
lay
spread
beneath
him
like
a
quilt
,
awash
in
all
the
colors
of
an
autumn
afternoon
.
A
vast
blue
-
white
wall
plugged
one
end
of
the
vale
,
squeezing
between
the
mountains
as
if
it
had
shouldered
them
aside
,
and
for
a
moment
he
thought
he
had
dreamed
himself
back
to
Castle
Black
.
Then
he
realized
he
was
looking
at
a
river
of
ice
several
thousand
feet
high
.
Under
that
glittering
cold
cliff
was
a
great
lake
,
its
deep
cobalt
waters
reflecting
the
snowcapped
peaks
that
ringed
it
.
There
were
men
down
in
the
valley
,
he
saw
now
;
many
men
,
thousands
,
a
huge
host
.
Some
were
tearing
great
holes
in
the
half
-
frozen
ground
,
while
others
trained
for
war
.
He
watched
as
a
swarming
mass
of
riders
charged
a
shield
wall
,
astride
horses
no
larger
than
ants
.
The
sound
of
their
mock
battle
was
a
rustling
of
steel
leaves
,
drifting
faintly
on
the
wind
.
Their
encampment
had
no
plan
to
it
;
he
saw
no
ditches
,
no
sharpened
stakes
,
no
neat
rows
of
horse
lines
.
Everywhere
crude
earthen
shelters
and
hide
tents
sprouted
haphazardly
,
like
a
pox
on
the
face
of
the
earth
.
He
spied
untidy
mounds
of
hay
,
smelled
goats
and
sheep
,
horses
and
pigs
,
dogs
in
great
profusion
.
Tendrils
of
dark
smoke
rose
from
a
thousand
cookfires
.
This
is
no
army
,
no
more
than
it
is
a
town
.
This
is
a
whole
people
come
together
.
Across
the
long
lake
,
one
of
the
mounds
moved
.
He
watched
it
more
closely
and
saw
that
it
was
not
dirt
at
all
,
but
alive
,
a
shaggy
lumbering
beast
with
a
snake
for
a
nose
and
tusks
larger
than
those
of
the
greatest
boar
that
had
ever
lived
.
