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- Джордж Мартин
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- Игра престолов
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- Стр. 720/751
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Jon
raised
the
hood
of
his
heavy
cloak
and
gave
the
horse
her
head
.
Castle
Black
was
silent
and
still
as
he
rode
out
,
with
Ghost
racing
at
his
side
.
Men
watched
from
the
Wall
behind
him
,
he
knew
,
but
their
eyes
were
turned
north
,
not
south
.
No
one
would
see
him
go
,
no
one
but
Sam
Tarly
,
struggling
back
to
his
feet
in
the
dust
of
the
old
stables
.
He
hoped
Sam
had
n't
hurt
himself
,
falling
like
that
.
He
was
so
heavy
and
so
ungainly
,
it
would
be
just
like
him
to
break
a
wrist
or
twist
his
ankle
getting
out
of
the
way
.
"
I
warned
him
,
"
Jon
said
aloud
.
"
It
was
nothing
to
do
with
him
,
anyway
.
"
He
flexed
his
burned
hand
as
he
rode
,
opening
and
closing
the
scarred
fingers
.
They
still
pained
him
,
but
it
felt
good
to
have
the
wrappings
off
.
Moonlight
silvered
the
hills
as
he
followed
the
twisting
ribbon
of
the
kingsroad
.
He
needed
to
get
as
far
from
the
Wall
as
he
could
before
they
realized
he
was
gone
.
On
the
morrow
he
would
leave
the
road
and
strike
out
overland
through
field
and
bush
and
stream
to
throw
off
pursuit
,
but
for
the
moment
speed
was
more
important
than
deception
.
It
was
not
as
though
they
would
not
guess
where
he
was
going
.
The
Old
Bear
was
accustomed
to
rise
at
first
light
,
so
Jon
had
until
dawn
to
put
as
many
leagues
as
he
could
between
him
and
the
Wall
...
if
Sam
Tarly
did
not
betray
him
.
The
fat
boy
was
dutiful
and
easily
frightened
,
but
he
loved
Jon
like
a
brother
.
If
questioned
,
Sam
would
doubtless
tell
them
the
truth
,
but
Jon
could
not
imagine
him
braving
the
guards
in
front
of
the
King
's
Tower
to
wake
Mormont
from
sleep
.
When
Jon
did
not
appear
to
fetch
the
Old
Bear
's
breakfast
from
the
kitchen
,
they
'd
look
in
his
cell
and
find
Longclaw
on
the
bed
.
It
had
been
hard
to
abandon
it
,
but
Jon
was
not
so
lost
to
honor
as
to
take
it
with
him
.
Even
Jorah
Mormont
had
not
done
that
,
when
he
fled
in
disgrace
.
Doubtless
Lord
Mormont
would
find
someone
more
worthy
of
the
blade
.
Jon
felt
bad
when
he
thought
of
the
old
man
.
He
knew
his
desertion
would
be
salt
in
the
still-raw
wound
of
his
son
's
disgrace
.
That
seemed
a
poor
way
to
repay
him
for
his
trust
,
but
it
could
n't
be
helped
.
No
matter
what
he
did
,
Jon
felt
as
though
he
were
betraying
someone
.
Even
now
,
he
did
not
know
if
he
was
doing
the
honorable
thing
.
The
southron
had
it
easier
.
They
had
their
septons
to
talk
to
,
someone
to
tell
them
the
gods
'
will
and
help
sort
out
right
from
wrong
.
But
the
Starks
worshiped
the
old
gods
,
the
nameless
gods
,
and
if
the
heart
trees
heard
,
they
did
not
speak
.
When
the
last
lights
of
Castle
Black
vanished
behind
him
,
Jon
slowed
his
mare
to
a
walk
.
He
had
a
long
journey
ahead
and
only
the
one
horse
to
see
him
through
.
There
were
holdfasts
and
farming
villages
along
the
road
south
where
he
might
be
able
to
trade
the
mare
for
a
fresh
mount
when
he
needed
one
,
but
not
if
she
were
injured
or
blown
.
He
would
need
to
find
new
clothes
soon
;
most
like
,
he
'd
need
to
steal
them
.
He
was
clad
in
black
from
head
to
heel
;
high
leather
riding
boots
,
roughspun
breeches
and
tunic
,
sleeveless
leather
jerkin
,
and
heavy
wool
cloak
.
His
longsword
and
dagger
were
sheathed
in
black
moleskin
,
and
the
hauberk
and
coif
in
his
saddlebag
were
black
ringmail
.
Any
bit
of
it
could
mean
his
death
if
he
were
taken
.
A
stranger
wearing
black
was
viewed
with
cold
suspicion
in
every
village
and
holdfast
north
of
the
Neck
,
and
men
would
soon
be
watching
for
him
.
Once
Maester
Aemon
's
ravens
took
flight
,
Jon
knew
he
would
find
no
safe
haven
.
Not
even
at
Winterfell
.
Bran
might
want
to
let
him
in
,
but
Maester
Luwin
had
better
sense
.
He
would
bar
the
gates
and
send
Jon
away
,
as
he
should
.
Better
not
to
call
there
at
all
.
