A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

Mormont on the morrow.”
    She wiped her hands on her skirt. “M’lord—”
    â€œI’m no lord.”
    But others had come crowding round, drawn by the woman’s scream and the crash
of the rabbit hutch. “Don’t you believe him, girl,” called out Lark the
Sisterman, a ranger mean as a cur. “That’s Lord Snow himself.”
    â€œBastard of Winterfell and brother to kings,” mocked Chett, who’d left his
hounds to see what the commotion was about.
    â€œThat wolf’s looking at you hungry, girl,” Lark said. “Might be it fancies
that tender bit in your belly.”
    Jon was not amused. “You’re scaring her.”
    â€œWarning her, more like.” Chett’s grin was as ugly as the boils that covered
most of his face.
    â€œWe’re not to talk to you,” the girl remembered suddenly.
    â€œWait,” Jon said, too late. She bolted, ran.
    Lark made a grab for the second rabbit, but Ghost was quicker. When he bared
his teeth, the Sisterman slipped in the mud and went down on his bony butt. The
others laughed. The direwolf took the rabbit in his mouth and brought it to
Jon.
    â€œThere was no call to scare the girl,” he told them.
    â€œWe’ll hear no scolds from you, bastard.” Chett blamed Jon for the loss of
his comfortable position with Maester Aemon, and

not without justice. If he had not gone to Aemon about Sam Tarly, Chett would
still be tending an old blind man instead of a pack of ill-tempered hunting
hounds. “You may be the Lord Commander’s pet, but you’re not the Lord
Commander . . . and you wouldn’t talk so bloody bold without
that monster of yours always about.”
    â€œI’ll not fight a brother while we’re beyond the Wall,” Jon answered, his
voice cooler than he felt.
    Lark got to one knee. “He’s afraid of you, Chett. On the Sisters, we have a
name for them like him.”
    â€œI know all the names. Save your breath.” He walked away, Ghost at his side.
The rain had dwindled to a thin drizzle by the time he reached the gate. Dusk
would be on them soon, followed by another wet dark dismal night. The clouds
would hide moon and stars and Mormont’s Torch, turning the woods black as
pitch. Every piss would be an adventure, if not quite of the sort Jon Snow had
once envisioned.
    Out under the trees, some rangers had found enough duff and dry wood to start a
fire beneath a slanting ridge of slate. Others had raised tents or made rude
shelters by stretching their cloaks over low branches. Giant had crammed
himself inside the hollow of a dead oak. “How d’ye like my castle, Lord
Snow?”
    â€œIt looks snug. You know where Sam is?”
    â€œKeep on the way you were. If you come on Ser Ottyn’s pavilion, you’ve gone
too far.” Giant smiled. “Unless Sam’s found him a tree too. What a tree
that
would be.”
    It was Ghost who found Sam in the end. The direwolf shot

ahead like a quarrel from a crossbow. Under an outcrop of rock that gave some
small degree of shelter from the rain, Sam was feeding the ravens. His boots
squished when he moved. “My feet are soaked through,” he admitted miserably.
“When I climbed off my horse, I stepped in a hole and went in up to my
knees.”
    â€œTake off your boots and dry your stockings. I’ll find some dry wood. If the
ground’s not wet under the rock, we might be able to get a fire burning.” Jon
showed Sam the rabbit. “And we’ll feast.”
    â€œWon’t you be attending Lord Mormont in the hall?”
    â€œNo, but you will. The Old Bear wants you to map for him. Craster says he’ll
find Mance Rayder for us.”
    â€œOh.” Sam did not look anxious to meet Craster, even if it meant a warm
fire.
    â€œHe said eat first, though. Dry your feet.” Jon went to gather fuel, digging
down under deadfalls for the drier wood beneath and peeling back layers of
sodden pine needles until he found likely kindling. Even then, it seemed to
take forever for a spark to catch. He hung his cloak from the rock to keep the
rain off his smoky little fire, making them a small snug alcove.
    As he knelt to skin the rabbit, Sam pulled off his boots. “I think there’s
moss growing between my toes,” he declared mournfully, wriggling the toes in
question. “The rabbit will taste