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- Джордж Мартин
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The
man
in
the
green
cloak
said
,
"
I
heard
how
this
hellbitch
walked
into
a
village
one
day
.
.
.
a
market
day
,
people
everywhere
,
and
she
walks
in
bold
as
you
please
and
tears
a
baby
from
his
mother
’
s
arms
.
When
the
tale
reached
Lord
Mooton
,
him
and
his
sons
swore
they
’
d
put
an
end
to
her
.
They
tracked
her
to
her
lair
with
a
pack
of
wolfhounds
,
and
barely
escaped
with
their
skins
.
Not
one
of
those
dogs
came
back
,
not
one
.
"
"
That
’
s
just
a
story
,
"
Arya
blurted
out
before
she
could
stop
herself
.
"
Wolves
don
’
t
eat
babies
.
"
"
And
what
would
you
know
about
it
,
lad
?
"
asked
the
man
in
the
green
cloak
.
Before
she
could
think
of
an
answer
,
Yoren
had
her
by
the
arm
.
"
The
boy
’
s
greensick
on
beer
,
that
’
s
all
it
is
.
"
"
No
I
’
m
not
.
They
don
’
t
eat
babies
.
.
.
"
"
Outside
,
boy
.
.
.
and
see
that
you
stay
there
until
you
learn
to
shut
your
mouth
when
men
are
talking
.
"
He
gave
her
a
stiff
shove
,
toward
the
side
door
that
led
back
to
the
stables
.
"
Go
on
now
.
See
that
the
stableboy
has
watered
our
horses
.
"
Arya
went
outside
,
stiff
with
fury
.
"
They
don
’
t
,
"
she
muttered
,
kicking
at
a
rock
as
she
stalked
off
.
It
went
rolling
and
fetched
up
under
the
wagons
.
"
Boy
,
"
a
friendly
voice
called
out
.
"
Lovely
boy
.
"
One
of
the
men
in
irons
was
talking
to
her
.
Warily
,
Arya
approached
the
wagon
,
one
hand
on
Needle
’
s
hilt
.
The
prisoner
lifted
an
empty
tankard
,
his
chains
rattling
.
"
A
man
could
use
another
taste
of
beer
.
A
man
has
a
thirst
,
wearing
these
heavy
bracelets
.
"
He
was
the
youngest
of
the
three
,
slender
,
fine
-
featured
,
always
smiling
.
His
hair
was
red
on
one
side
and
white
on
the
other
,
all
matted
and
filthy
from
cage
and
travel
.
"
A
man
could
use
a
bath
too
,
"
he
said
,
when
he
saw
the
way
Arya
was
looking
at
him
.
"
A
boy
could
make
a
friend
.
"
