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- Джордж Мартин
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- Игра престолов
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- Стр. 607/751
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Mormont
frowned
.
"
A
dead
man
tried
to
kill
me
.
How
well
could
I
be
?
"
He
scratched
under
his
chin
.
His
shaggy
grey
beard
had
been
singed
in
the
fire
,
and
he
'd
hacked
it
off
.
The
pale
stubble
of
his
new
whiskers
made
him
look
old
,
disreputable
,
and
grumpy
.
"
You
do
not
look
well
.
How
is
your
hand
?
"
"
Healing
.
"
Jon
flexed
his
bandaged
fingers
to
show
him
.
He
had
burned
himself
more
badly
than
he
knew
throwing
the
flaming
drapes
,
and
his
right
hand
was
swathed
in
silk
halfway
to
the
elbow
.
At
the
time
he
'd
felt
nothing
;
the
agony
had
come
after
.
His
cracked
red
skin
oozed
fluid
,
and
fearsome
blood
blisters
rose
between
his
fingers
,
big
as
roaches
.
"
The
maester
says
I
'll
have
scars
,
but
otherwise
the
hand
should
be
as
good
as
it
was
before
.
"
"
A
scarred
hand
is
nothing
.
On
the
Wall
,
you
'll
be
wearing
gloves
often
as
not
.
"
"
As
you
say
,
my
lord
.
"
It
was
not
the
thought
of
scars
that
troubled
Jon
;
it
was
the
rest
of
it
.
Maester
Aemon
had
given
him
milk
of
the
poppy
,
yet
even
so
,
the
pain
had
been
hideous
.
At
first
it
had
felt
as
if
his
hand
were
still
aflame
,
burning
day
and
night
.
Only
plunging
it
into
basins
of
snow
and
shaved
ice
gave
any
relief
at
all
.
Jon
thanked
the
gods
that
no
one
but
Ghost
saw
him
writhing
on
his
bed
,
whimpering
from
the
pain
.
And
when
at
last
he
did
sleep
,
he
dreamt
,
and
that
was
even
worse
.
In
the
dream
,
the
corpse
he
fought
had
blue
eyes
,
black
hands
,
and
his
father
's
face
,
but
he
dared
not
tell
Mormont
that
.
"
Dywen
and
Hake
returned
last
night
,
"
the
Old
Bear
said
.
"
They
found
no
sign
of
your
uncle
,
no
more
than
the
others
did
.
"
"
I
know
.
"
Jon
had
dragged
himself
to
the
common
hall
to
sup
with
his
friends
,
and
the
failure
of
the
rangers
'
search
had
been
all
the
men
had
been
talking
of
.
"
You
know
,
"
Mormont
grumbled
.
"
How
is
it
that
everyone
knows
everything
around
here
?
"
He
did
not
seem
to
expect
an
answer
.
"
It
would
seem
there
were
only
the
two
of
...
of
those
creatures
,
whatever
they
were
,
I
will
not
call
them
men
.
And
thank
the
gods
for
that
.
Any
more
and
...
well
,
that
does
n't
bear
thinking
of
.
There
will
be
more
,
though
.
I
can
feel
it
in
these
old
bones
of
mine
,
and
Maester
Aemon
agrees
.
The
cold
winds
are
rising
.
Summer
is
at
an
end
,
and
a
winter
is
coming
such
as
this
world
has
never
seen
.
"
Winter
is
coming
.
The
Stark
words
had
never
sounded
so
grim
or
ominous
to
Jon
as
they
did
now
.
"
My
lord
,
"
he
asked
hesitantly
,
"
it
's
said
there
was
a
bird
last
night
...
"
"
There
was
.
What
of
it
?
"
