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- Джордж Мартин
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"
You
can
’
t
,
"
said
Rickon
angrily
.
"
No
you
can
’
t
.
"
Beside
him
,
Shaggydog
bared
his
teeth
and
growled
.
The
maester
smiled
.
"
Hush
now
,
child
,
I
’
m
much
older
than
you
.
I
can
.
.
.
die
as
I
please
.
"
"
Hodor
,
down
,
"
said
Bran
.
Hodor
went
to
his
knees
beside
the
maester
.
"
Listen
,
"
Luwin
said
to
Osha
,
"
the
princes
.
.
.
Robb
’
s
heirs
.
Not
.
.
.
not
together
.
.
.
do
you
hear
?
"
The
wildling
woman
leaned
on
her
spear
.
"
Aye
.
Safer
apart
.
But
where
to
take
them
?
I
’
d
thought
,
might
be
these
Cerwyns
.
.
.
"
Maester
Luwin
shook
his
head
,
though
it
was
plain
to
see
what
the
effort
cost
him
.
"
Cerwyn
boy
’
s
dead
.
Ser
Rodrik
,
Leobald
Tallhart
,
Lady
Hornwood
.
.
.
all
slain
.
Deepwood
fallen
,
Moat
Cailin
,
soon
Torrhen
’
s
Square
.
Ironmen
on
the
Stony
Shore
.
And
east
,
the
Bastard
of
Bolton
.
"
"
Then
where
?
"
asked
Osha
.
"
White
Harbor
.
.
.
the
Umbers
.
.
.
I
do
not
know
.
.
.
war
everywhere
.
.
.
each
man
against
his
neighbor
,
and
winter
coming
.
.
.
such
folly
,
such
black
mad
folly
.
.
.
"
Maester
Luwin
reached
up
and
grasped
Bran
’
s
forearm
,
his
fingers
closing
with
a
desperate
strength
.
"
You
must
be
strong
now
.
Strong
.
"
"
I
will
be
,
"
Bran
said
,
though
it
was
hard
.
Ser
Rodrik
killed
and
Maester
Luwin
,
everyone
,
everyone
.
.
.
