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- Джордж Мартин
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And
in
the
mouth
of
the
empty
tomb
that
waited
for
Lord
Eddard
Stark
,
beneath
his
stately
granite
likeness
,
the
six
fugitives
huddled
round
their
little
cache
of
bread
and
water
and
dried
meat
.
"
Little
enough
left
,
"
Osha
muttered
as
she
blinked
down
on
their
stores
.
"
I
’
d
need
to
go
up
soon
to
steal
food
in
any
case
,
or
we
’
d
be
down
to
eating
Hodor
.
"
"
Hodor
,
"
Hodor
said
,
grinning
at
her
.
"
Is
it
day
or
night
up
there
?
"
Osha
wondered
.
"
I
’
ve
lost
all
count
o
’
such
.
"
"
Day
,
"
Bran
told
her
,
"
but
it
’
s
dark
from
all
the
smoke
.
"
"
M
’
lord
is
certain
?
"
Never
moving
his
broken
body
,
he
reached
out
all
the
same
,
and
for
an
instant
he
was
seeing
double
.
There
stood
Osha
holding
the
torch
,
and
Meera
and
Jojen
and
Hodor
,
and
the
double
row
of
tall
granite
pillars
and
long
dead
lords
behind
them
stretching
away
into
darkness
.
.
.
but
there
was
Winterfell
as
well
,
grey
with
drifting
smoke
,
the
massive
oak
-
and
-
iron
gates
charred
and
askew
,
the
drawbridge
down
in
a
tangle
of
broken
chains
and
missing
planks
.
Bodies
floated
in
the
moat
,
islands
for
the
crows
.
"
Certain
,
"
he
declared
.
Osha
chewed
on
that
a
moment
.
"
I
’
ll
risk
a
look
then
.
I
want
the
lot
o
’
you
close
behind
.
Meera
,
get
Bran
’
s
basket
.
"
"
Are
we
going
home
?
"
Rickon
asked
excitedly
.
"
I
want
my
horse
.
And
I
want
applecakes
and
butter
and
honey
,
and
Shaggy
.
Are
we
going
where
Shaggydog
is
?
"
"
Yes
,
"
Bran
promised
,
"
but
you
have
to
be
quiet
.
"
