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- Джордж Мартин
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"
I
.
.
.
m
-
m
-
my
lord
,
"
Sam
stammered
,
"
there
.
.
.
there
were
more
,
b
-
b
-
but
.
.
.
the
dis
-
disorder
.
.
.
"
"
These
are
old
,
"
Mormont
complained
,
and
his
raven
echoed
him
with
a
sharp
cry
of
"
Old
,
old
.
"
"
The
villages
may
come
and
go
,
but
the
hills
and
rivers
will
be
in
the
same
places
,
"
Jon
pointed
out
.
"
True
enough
.
Have
you
chosen
your
ravens
yet
,
Tarly
?
"
"
M
-
m
-
maester
Aemon
m
-
means
to
p
-
pick
them
come
evenfall
,
after
the
f
-
f
-
feeding
.
"
"
I
’
ll
have
his
best
.
Smart
birds
,
and
strong
.
"
"
Strong
,
"
his
own
bird
said
,
preening
.
"
Strong
,
strong
.
"
"
If
it
happens
that
we
’
re
all
butchered
out
there
,
I
mean
for
my
successor
to
know
where
and
how
we
died
.
"
Talk
of
butchery
reduced
Samwell
Tarly
to
speechlessness
.
Mormont
leaned
forward
.
"
Tarly
,
when
I
was
a
lad
half
your
age
,
my
lady
mother
told
me
that
if
I
stood
about
with
my
mouth
open
,
a
weasel
was
like
to
mistake
it
for
his
lair
and
run
down
my
throat
.
If
you
have
something
to
say
,
say
it
.
Otherwise
,
beware
of
weasels
.
"
He
waved
a
brusque
dismissal
.
"
Off
with
you
,
I
’
m
too
busy
for
folly
.
No
doubt
the
maester
has
some
work
you
can
do
.
"
Sam
swallowed
,
stepped
back
,
and
scurried
out
so
quickly
he
almost
tripped
over
the
rushes
.
