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- Джордж Мартин
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- Стр. 790/853
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As
Arya
crossed
the
yard
to
the
bathhouse
,
she
spied
a
raven
circling
down
toward
the
rookery
,
and
wondered
where
it
had
come
from
and
what
message
it
carried
.
Might
be
it
’
s
from
Robb
,
come
to
say
it
wasn
’
t
true
about
Bran
and
Rickon
.
She
chewed
on
her
lip
,
hoping
.
If
I
had
wings
I
could
fly
back
to
Winterfell
and
see
for
myself
.
And
if
it
was
true
,
I
’
d
just
fly
away
,
fly
up
past
the
moon
and
the
shining
stars
,
and
see
all
the
things
in
Old
Nan
’
s
stories
,
dragons
and
sea
monsters
and
the
Titan
of
Braavos
,
and
maybe
I
wouldn
’
t
ever
fly
back
unless
I
wanted
to
.
The
hunting
party
returned
near
evenfall
with
nine
dead
wolves
.
Seven
were
adults
,
big
grey
-
brown
beasts
,
savage
and
powerful
,
their
mouths
drawn
back
over
long
yellow
teeth
by
their
dying
snarls
.
But
the
other
two
had
only
been
pups
.
Lord
Bolton
gave
orders
for
the
skins
to
be
sewn
into
a
blanket
for
his
bed
.
"
Cubs
still
have
that
soft
fur
,
my
lord
,
"
one
of
his
men
pointed
out
.
"
Make
you
a
nice
warm
pair
of
gloves
.
"
Bolton
glanced
up
at
the
banners
waving
above
the
gatehouse
towers
.
"
As
the
Starks
are
wont
to
remind
us
,
winter
is
coming
.
Have
it
done
.
"
When
he
saw
Arya
looking
on
,
he
said
,
"
Nan
,
I
’
ll
want
a
flagon
of
hot
spice
wine
,
I
took
a
chill
in
the
woods
.
See
that
it
doesn
’
t
get
cold
.
I
’
m
of
a
mind
to
sup
alone
.
Barley
bread
,
butter
,
and
boar
.
"
"
At
once
,
my
lord
.
"
That
was
always
the
best
thing
to
say
.
Hot
Pie
was
making
oatcakes
when
she
entered
the
kitchen
.
Three
other
cooks
were
boning
fish
,
while
a
spit
boy
turned
a
boar
over
the
flames
.
"
My
lord
wants
his
supper
,
and
hot
spice
wine
to
wash
it
down
,
"
Arya
announced
,
"
and
he
doesn
’
t
want
it
cold
.
"
One
of
the
cooks
washed
his
hands
,
took
out
a
kettle
,
and
filled
it
with
a
heavy
,
sweet
red
.
Hot
Pie
was
told
to
crumble
in
the
spices
as
the
wine
heated
.
Arya
went
to
help
.
"
I
can
do
it
,
"
he
said
sullenly
.
"
I
don
’
t
need
you
to
show
me
how
to
spice
wine
.
"
He
hates
me
too
,
or
else
he
’
s
scared
of
me
.
She
backed
away
,
more
sad
than
angry
.
When
the
food
was
ready
,
the
cooks
covered
it
with
a
silver
cover
and
wrapped
the
flagon
in
a
thick
towel
to
keep
it
warm
.
Dusk
was
settling
outside
.
On
the
walls
the
crows
muttered
round
the
heads
like
courtiers
round
a
king
.
One
of
the
guards
held
the
door
to
Kingspyre
.
"
Hope
that
’
s
not
weasel
soup
,
"
he
jested
.
Roose
Bolton
was
seated
by
the
hearth
reading
from
a
thick
leather
-
bound
book
when
she
entered
.
"
Light
some
candles
,
"
he
commanded
her
as
he
turned
a
page
.
"
It
grows
gloomy
in
here
.
"
She
placed
the
food
at
his
elbow
and
did
as
he
bid
her
,
filling
the
room
with
flickering
light
and
the
scent
of
cloves
.
Bolton
turned
a
few
more
pages
with
his
finger
,
then
closed
the
book
and
placed
it
carefully
in
the
fire
.
He
watched
the
flames
consume
it
,
pale
eyes
shining
with
reflected
light
.
The
old
dry
leather
went
up
with
a
whoosh
,
and
the
yellow
pages
stirred
as
they
burned
,
as
if
some
ghost
were
reading
them
.
"
I
will
have
no
further
need
of
you
tonight
,
"
he
said
,
never
looking
at
her
.
