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- Джордж Мартин
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- Игра престолов
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- Стр. 686/751
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Bran
picked
one
up
.
"
It
's
made
of
glass
.
"
Curious
,
Rickon
drifted
closer
to
peer
over
the
table
.
"
Dragonglass
,
"
Osha
named
it
as
she
sat
down
beside
Luwin
,
bandagings
in
hand
.
"
Obsidian
,
"
Maester
Luwin
insisted
,
holding
out
his
wounded
arm
.
"
Forged
in
the
fires
of
the
gods
,
far
below
the
earth
.
The
children
of
the
forest
hunted
with
that
,
thousands
of
years
ago
.
The
children
worked
no
metal
.
In
place
of
mail
,
they
wore
long
shirts
of
woven
leaves
and
bound
their
legs
in
bark
,
so
they
seemed
to
melt
into
the
wood
.
In
place
of
swords
,
they
carried
blades
of
obsidian
.
"
"
And
still
do
.
"
Osha
placed
soft
pads
over
the
bites
on
the
maester
's
forearm
and
bound
them
tight
with
long
strips
of
linen
.
Bran
held
the
arrowhead
up
close
.
The
black
glass
was
slick
and
shiny
.
He
thought
it
beautiful
.
"
Can
I
keep
one
?
"
"
As
you
wish
,
"
the
maester
said
.
"
I
want
one
too
,
"
Rickon
said
.
"
I
want
four
.
I
'm
four
.
"
Luwin
made
him
count
them
out
.
"
Careful
,
they
're
still
sharp
.
Do
n't
cut
yourself
.
"
"
Tell
me
about
the
children
,
"
Bran
said
.
It
was
important
.
