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- Джордж Мартин
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- Игра престолов
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- Стр. 157/751
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Bran
looked
down
.
He
could
see
mountains
now
,
their
peaks
white
with
snow
,
and
the
silver
thread
of
rivers
in
dark
woods
.
He
closed
his
eyes
and
began
to
cry
.
That
wo
n't
do
any
good
,
the
crow
said
.
I
told
you
,
the
answer
is
flying
,
not
crying
.
How
hard
can
it
be
?
I
'm
doing
it
.
The
crow
took
to
the
air
and
flapped
around
Bran
's
hand
.
"
You
have
wings
,
"
Bran
pointed
out
.
Maybe
you
do
too
.
Bran
felt
along
his
shoulders
,
groping
for
feathers
.
There
are
different
kinds
of
wings
,
the
crow
said
.
Bran
was
staring
at
his
arms
,
his
legs
.
He
was
so
skinny
,
just
skin
stretched
taut
over
bones
.
Had
he
always
been
so
thin
?
He
tried
to
remember
.
A
face
swam
up
at
him
out
of
the
grey
mist
,
shining
with
light
,
golden
.
"
The
things
I
do
for
love
,
"
it
said
.
Bran
screamed
.
The
crow
took
to
the
air
,
cawing
.
Not
that
,
it
shrieked
at
him
.
Forget
that
,
you
do
not
need
it
now
,
put
it
aside
,
put
it
away
.
It
landed
on
Bran
's
shoulder
,
and
pecked
at
him
,
and
the
shining
golden
face
was
gone
.
Bran
was
falling
faster
than
ever
.
The
grey
mists
howled
around
him
as
he
plunged
toward
the
earth
below
.
"
What
are
you
doing
to
me
?
"
he
asked
the
crow
,
tearful
.
