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- Джордж Мартин
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"
Hodor
?
"
Hodor
said
mournfully
.
"
Hodor
?
"
Gently
,
they
eased
Luwin
onto
his
back
.
He
had
grey
eyes
and
grey
hair
,
and
once
his
robes
had
been
grey
as
well
,
but
they
were
darker
now
where
the
blood
had
soaked
through
.
"
Bran
,
"
he
said
softly
when
he
saw
him
sitting
tall
on
Hodor
’
s
back
.
"
And
Rickon
too
.
"
He
smiled
.
"
The
gods
are
good
.
I
knew
.
.
.
"
"
Knew
?
"
said
Bran
uncertainly
.
"
The
legs
,
I
could
tell
.
.
.
the
clothes
fit
,
but
the
muscles
in
his
legs
.
.
.
poor
lad
.
.
.
"
He
coughed
,
and
blood
came
up
from
inside
him
.
"
You
vanished
.
.
.
in
the
woods
.
.
.
how
,
though
?
"
"
We
never
went
,
"
said
Bran
.
"
Well
,
only
to
the
edge
,
and
then
doubled
back
.
I
sent
the
wolves
on
to
make
a
trail
,
but
we
hid
in
Father
’
s
tomb
.
"
"
The
crypts
.
"
Luwin
chuckled
,
a
froth
of
blood
on
his
lips
.
When
the
maester
tried
to
move
,
he
gave
a
sharp
gasp
of
pain
.
Tears
filled
Bran
’
s
eyes
.
When
a
man
was
hurt
you
took
him
to
the
maester
,
but
what
could
you
do
when
your
maester
was
hurt
?
"
We
’
ll
need
to
make
a
litter
to
carry
him
,
"
said
Osha
.
"
No
use
,
"
said
Luwin
.
"
I
’
m
dying
,
woman
.
"
