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- Джордж Мартин
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And
the
thing
riding
it
was
huge
as
well
,
and
his
shape
was
wrong
,
too
thick
in
the
leg
and
hips
to
be
a
man
.
Then
a
sudden
gust
of
cold
made
his
fur
stand
up
,
and
the
air
thrilled
to
the
sound
of
wings
.
As
he
lifted
his
eyes
to
the
ice
-
white
mountain
heights
above
,
a
shadow
plummeted
out
of
the
sky
.
A
shrill
scream
split
the
air
.
He
glimpsed
blue
-
grey
pinions
spread
wide
,
shutting
out
the
sun
.
.
.
"
Ghost
!
"
Jon
shouted
,
sitting
up
.
He
could
still
feel
the
talons
,
the
pain
.
"
Ghost
,
to
me
!
"
Ebben
appeared
,
grabbed
him
,
shook
him
.
"
Quiet
!
You
mean
to
bring
the
wildlings
down
on
us
?
What
’
s
wrong
with
you
,
boy
?
"
"
A
dream
,
"
said
Jon
feebly
.
"
I
was
Ghost
,
I
was
on
the
edge
of
the
mountain
looking
down
on
a
frozen
river
,
and
something
attacked
me
.
A
bird
.
.
.
an
eagle
,
I
think
.
.
.
"
Squire
Dalbridge
smiled
.
"
It
’
s
always
pretty
women
in
my
dreams
.
Would
that
I
dreamed
more
often
.
"
Qhorin
came
up
beside
him
.
"
A
frozen
river
,
you
say
?
"
"
The
Milkwater
flows
from
a
great
lake
at
the
foot
of
a
glacier
,
"
Stonesnake
put
in
.
"
There
was
a
tree
with
my
brother
’
s
face
.
The
wildlings
.
.
.
there
were
thousands
,
more
than
I
ever
knew
existed
.
And
giants
riding
mammoths
.
"
From
the
way
the
light
had
shifted
,
Jon
judged
that
he
had
been
asleep
for
four
or
five
hours
.
His
head
ached
,
and
the
back
of
his
neck
where
the
talons
had
burned
through
him
.
But
that
was
in
the
dream
.
"
Tell
me
all
that
you
remember
,
from
first
to
last
,
"
said
Qhorin
Halfhand
.
