2017年06月26日

use your skull to piss in. Har

In stone halls they burn their great fires, in stone halls they forge their sharp spears.  Whilst I walk alone in the mountains, with no true companion but

tears.  They hunt me with dogs in the daylight, they hunt me with torches by night.  For these men who are small can never stand tall, whilst giants still walk in

the light.  Oooooooh, I am the LAST of the giants, so learn well the words of my song.  For when I am gone the singing will fade, and the silence shall last long and

long.  There were tears on Ygritte’s cheeks when the song ended Elevit.  “Why are you weeping?” Jon asked. “It was only a song. There are hundreds of giants, I’ve just

seen them.”  “Oh, hundreds,” she said furiously. “You know nothing, Jon Snow. You - JON!”  Jon turned at the sudden sound of wings. Blue-grey feathers filled his

eyes, as sharp talons buried themselves in his face. Red pain lanced through him sudden and fierce as pinions beat round his head. He saw the beak, but there was no

time to get a hand up or reach for a weapon. Jon reeled backward, his foot lost the stirrup, his garron broke in panic, and then he was falling. And still the eagle

clung to his face, its talons tearing at him as it flapped and shrieked and pecked. The world turned upside down in a chaos of feathers and horseflesh and blood, and

then the ground came up to smash him.  The next he knew, he was on his face with the taste of mud and blood in his mouth and Ygritte kneeling over him protectively,

a bone dagger in her hand. He could still hear wings, though the eagle was not in sight. Half his world was black. “My eye Elevit,” he said in sudden panic, raising a

hand to his face.  “It’s only blood, Jon Snow. He missed the eye, just ripped your skin up some.”  His face was throbbing. Tormund stood over them bellowing, he

saw from his right eye as he rubbed blood from his left. Then there were hoofbeats, shouts, and the clacking of old dry bones.  “Bag o’ Bones,” roared Tormund,

“call off your hellcrow!”  “There’s your hellcrow!” Rattleshirt pointed at Jon. “Bleeding in the mud like a faithless dog!” The eagle came flapping down to

land atop the broken giant’s skull that served him for his helm. “I’m here for him.”  “Come take him then,” said Tormund, “but best come with sword in hand,

for that’s where you’ll find mine. Might be I’ll boil your bones, and!”  “Once I prick you and let the air out, you’ll shrink

down smallern that girl. Stand aside, or Mance will hear o’ this.”  Ygritte stood. “What, is it Mance who wants him?”  “I said so, didn’t I? Get him up on those

black feet.”  Tormund frowned down at Jon. “Best go, if it’s the Mance who’s wanting you.”  Ygritte helped pull him up. “He’s bleeding like a butchered boar.

Look what Orell did t’ his sweet face.”  Can a bird hate? Jon had slain the wildling Orell, but some part of the man remained within the eagle. The golden eyes

looked out on him with cold malevolence. “I’ll come,” he said. The blood kept running down into his right eye, and his cheek was a blaze of pain. When he touched

it his black gloves came away stained with red. “Let me catch my garron.” It was not the horse he wanted so much as Ghost, but the direwolf was nowhere to be seen.

He could be leagues away by now, ripping out the throat of some elk. Perhaps that was just as well YOOX HK.
posted by maycal at 13:20| http://iksog.hautetfort.com/ | 更新情報をチェックする
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