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- Джордж Мартин
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- Стр. 9/751
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Will
's
voice
abandoned
him
.
He
groped
for
words
that
did
not
come
.
It
was
not
possible
.
His
eyes
swept
back
and
forth
over
the
abandoned
campsite
,
stopped
on
the
axe
.
A
huge
double-bladed
battle-axe
,
still
lying
where
he
had
seen
it
last
,
untouched
.
A
valuable
weapon
...
"
On
your
feet
,
Will
,
"
Ser
Waymar
commanded
.
"
There
's
no
one
here
.
I
wo
n't
have
you
hiding
under
a
bush
.
"
Reluctantly
,
Will
obeyed
.
Ser
Waymar
looked
him
over
with
open
disapproval
.
"
I
am
not
going
back
to
Castle
Black
a
failure
on
my
first
ranging
.
We
will
find
these
men
.
"
He
glanced
around
.
"
Up
the
tree
.
Be
quick
about
it
.
Look
for
a
fire
.
"
Will
turned
away
,
wordless
.
There
was
no
use
to
argue
.
The
wind
was
moving
.
It
cut
right
through
him
.
He
went
to
the
tree
,
a
vaulting
grey-green
sentinel
,
and
began
to
climb
.
Soon
his
hands
were
sticky
with
sap
,
and
he
was
lost
among
the
needles
.
Fear
filled
his
gut
like
a
meal
he
could
not
digest
.
He
whispered
a
prayer
to
the
nameless
gods
of
the
wood
,
and
slipped
his
dirk
free
of
its
sheath
.
He
put
it
between
his
teeth
to
keep
both
hands
free
for
climbing
.
The
taste
of
cold
iron
in
his
mouth
gave
him
comfort
.
Down
below
,
the
lordling
called
out
suddenly
,
"
Who
goes
there
?
"
Will
heard
uncertainty
in
the
challenge
.
He
stopped
climbing
;
he
listened
;
he
watched
.
The
woods
gave
answer
:
the
rustle
of
leaves
,
the
icy
rush
of
the
stream
,
a
distant
hoot
of
a
snow
owl
.
The
Others
made
no
sound
.
Will
saw
movement
from
the
corner
of
his
eye
.
Pale
shapes
gliding
through
the
wood
.
He
turned
his
head
,
glimpsed
a
white
shadow
in
the
darkness
.
Then
it
was
gone
.
Branches
stirred
gently
in
the
wind
,
scratching
at
one
another
with
wooden
fingers
.
Will
opened
his
mouth
to
call
down
a
warning
,
and
the
words
seemed
to
freeze
in
his
throat
.
Perhaps
he
was
wrong
.
Perhaps
it
had
only
been
a
bird
,
a
reflection
on
the
snow
,
some
trick
of
the
moonlight
.
What
had
he
seen
,
after
all
?
"
Will
,
where
are
you
?
"
Ser
Waymar
called
up
.
