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- Джордж Мартин
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"
She
's
a
woman
,
"
Robb
said
.
"
A
wildling
,
"
Bran
told
him
.
"
She
said
they
should
keep
me
alive
so
they
could
take
me
to
Mance
Rayder
.
"
"
Do
you
have
a
name
?
"
Robb
asked
her
.
"
Osha
,
as
it
please
the
lord
,
"
she
muttered
sourly
.
Maester
Luwin
stood
.
"
We
might
do
well
to
question
her
.
"
Bran
could
see
the
relief
on
his
brother
's
face
.
"
As
you
say
,
Maester
.
Wayn
,
bind
her
hands
.
She
'll
come
back
to
Winterfell
with
us
.
.
and
live
or
die
by
the
truths
she
gives
us
.
"
You
want
eat
?
"
Mord
asked
,
glowering
.
He
had
a
plate
of
oiled
beans
in
one
thick
,
stub-fingered
hand
.
Tyrion
Lannister
was
starved
,
but
he
refused
to
let
this
brute
see
him
cringe
.
"
A
leg
of
lamb
would
be
pleasant
,
"
he
said
,
from
the
heap
of
soiled
straw
in
the
corner
of
his
cell
.
"
Perhaps
a
dish
of
peas
and
onions
,
some
fresh
baked
bread
with
butter
,
and
a
flagon
of
mulled
wine
to
wash
it
down
.
Or
beer
,
if
that
's
easier
.
I
try
not
to
be
overly
particular
.
"
"
Is
beans
,
"
Mord
said
.
"
Here
.
"
He
held
out
the
plate
.
