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- Джордж Мартин
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The
eagle
was
perched
on
a
spine
of
rock
far
above
them
,
outlined
against
the
darkening
sky
.
We
’
ve
seen
other
eagles
,
Jon
thought
.
That
need
not
be
the
one
I
dreamed
of
.
Even
so
,
Ebben
would
have
loosed
a
shaft
at
it
,
but
the
squire
stopped
him
.
"
The
bird
’
s
well
out
of
bowshot
.
"
"
I
don
’
t
like
it
watching
us
.
"
The
squire
shrugged
.
"
Nor
me
,
but
you
won
’
t
stop
it
.
Only
waste
a
good
arrow
.
"
Qhorin
sat
in
his
saddle
,
studying
the
eagle
for
a
long
time
.
"
We
press
on
,
"
he
finally
said
.
The
rangers
resumed
their
descent
.
Ghost
,
Jon
wanted
to
shout
,
where
are
you
?
He
was
about
to
follow
Qhorin
and
the
others
when
he
glimpsed
a
flash
of
white
between
two
boulders
.
A
patch
of
old
snow
,
he
thought
,
until
he
saw
it
stir
.
He
was
off
his
horse
at
once
.
As
he
went
to
his
knees
,
Ghost
lifted
his
head
.
His
neck
glistened
wetly
,
but
he
made
no
sound
when
Jon
peeled
off
a
glove
and
touched
him
.
The
talons
had
torn
a
bloody
path
through
fur
and
flesh
,
but
the
bird
had
not
been
able
to
snap
his
neck
.
Qhorin
Halfhand
was
standing
over
him
.
"
How
bad
?
"
As
if
in
answer
,
Ghost
struggled
to
his
feet
.
"
The
wolf
is
strong
,
"
the
ranger
said
.
"
Ebben
,
water
.
Stonesnake
,
your
skin
of
wine
.
Hold
him
still
,
Jon
.
"
