Chapter 10 Chapter 9 Bran

The ridge rises steeply, with long slopes of rock and soil shaped like claws.There were trees in the lower parts of the slope, pine, hawthorn, and ash, but the higher parts were bare of vegetation, the tops rising abruptly against the cloudy sky. The ridge was calling to him.He ran up, an easy stroll at first, then faster and higher, the slope receding under his strong legs, and the birds scatter from the branches overhead as he passed, waving Claw, while flapping its wings, fled into the air.He heard the breeze sighing among the leaves, the twittering of squirrels, and even the tumbling of pine cones.Countless fresh scents surround him like a ballad, praising the beautiful green world.

Gravel flew under his claws, and he climbed the last few feet, standing tall on the summit.The sun hangs high above the pine trees, huge and bright, and below him, the woods and hills continue, stretching into the distance, until the end of sight and smell.A kite hovers in the sky like a black shadow on a pink base. I am a prince.A voice echoed in his mind, and he could feel the kindness in it.I am the prince of the green world, the prince of the wolf forest.He is strong, swift, fierce, and feared by all the creatures that live in the good green world. Far below, something moved in the woods.He could not help pricking up his ears only to see a gray shadow flashing and then disappearing quickly.Another figure passed by the fast-flowing green stream.It was wolves, he knew, his little cousins, hunting.The prince saw more shapes, looming in the swift gray paws.They are a group.

He also had a group, which is no longer found.The six wolves are one, and the five wolves remain, dividing the world and not communicating with each other.He carried within him the impression of the voices that men had given to his brothers and sisters, but he did not recognize them by their voices.He remembered the smells, and they had similar smells, the smell of the same people, though each was different. Only the irascible younger brother was left with the prince, the younger brother with the green fire in the eyes, and even he had lost sight of many hunts.With each sunset, the younger brother went further and further away, and at last the prince was alone.The other brothers and sisters were even more scattered among the world, like leaves swept away by a strong wind.

But now and then he could feel them, as if they were still together, only blocked by stones or trees.He couldn't smell them, couldn't hear their howls, but he could feel their support... except for the dead sister.Thinking of her, his tail drooped silently.There are only five, not six.Four plus the white and silent one. They belonged to the forests, to the snow-covered slopes and jagged hills, to the great green pines and oaks with their golden leaves, to the rushing streams and the blue lakes fringed with frost.But his sister left the wilderness and walked into the caves of the stone mountains built by humans, where another kind of hunter ruled, and they could enter but not exit.Prince Wolf remembered all these past events.

The wind direction suddenly changed. Deer, fear, blood.The smell of prey whets his inner hunger.The prince sniffed again, then turned and ran quickly.He galloped along the crest of the ridge, jaw half open.The other side of the ridge was steeper than where he had come up, but he stepped steadily over rocks, roots, and decayed leaves, rushing down the slope and through the trees, striding forward, drawn by the breath.Go faster and faster. The deer was down, dying, surrounded by eight of his little gray distant relatives.The pack leader begins the meal, with the male eating first, followed by his mate, who take turns tearing flesh from the bright red underbelly of their prey.The rest were waiting patiently, only the little tail was a little restless. He was circling anxiously a few steps away from the other wolves, with his tail held down.He will eat last, eating the leftovers left by his brothers.

The prince was downwind, and they didn't smell it until he jumped onto the fallen log, only six paces from the dead deer.The little tail was the first to spot him, sobbed pitifully, and slipped away quietly.Except for the leading male and female, the wolves in the pack turned and bared their teeth and growled. The direwolf growled in return, showing them his teeth.He was larger than his distant relatives, twice the size of the scrawny little tail, and half the size of the two pack chiefs.He jumped down and jumped among them, and the three wolves fled and disappeared into the bushes.Another horse came at him, opened its mouth and bit.He confronted the attack head-on, the two wolves collided, and he caught the other's leg with his jaws, throwing it aside.The wolf barked and limped away.

In an instant, only the alpha wolf was left in place, a huge gray male with a mouth full of blood from the soft belly of its prey.His nose and mouth were a little white, showing his identity as an old wolf. He opened his mouth, and red saliva dripped from between his teeth. He has no fear, the Prince thought, as I do.It's going to be a tough fight.They jumped at the same time. They fought for a long time, writhing among roots, rocks, fallen leaves, and scattered entrails, tearing at each other with teeth and claws.They parted now and then, circling in circles, and then dashed up to engage again.The Prince is bigger and stronger, but his distant relatives have Clans.The she-wolf prowls the neighborhood, sniffing and growling, stepping forward should her mate be wounded and out of combat.Other wolves also rushed into the battle group from time to time, and bit the prince's leg or ear when he was not looking.One of them annoyed him so much that the prince charged at it with murderous intent and tore open the other's throat.From then on, the other wolves kept their distance.

When the last ray of red light penetrated through the green and golden canopy, the old wolf fell tiredly in the soil, turned his back to the sky, exposing his throat and belly.He surrendered. The prince sniffed and licked the blood from the opponent's fur and wounds.The old wolf whimpered softly.The direwolf returned to his prey, he was hungry, and the prey was his. "Hodor." The sudden cry made him stop and growl.The wolves watched him with green and yellow eyes, glowing in the afterglow of the day.They are overwhelmed.A strange wind whispered in his ears, and he buried his claws into the deer's belly, tearing off a large chunk of flesh.

"Hodor, Hodor." No, he thought, no, I'm not going.That was the boy's mind, not the direwolf's.The surrounding forest darkened, save for the shadows of the trees and the twinkling eyes.Through those eyes he saw a tall grinning human, and a stone cellar with saltpeter on the walls.The rich and warm taste of blood could no longer be tasted on the tip of the tongue.No, don't, don't, I want to eat, I want to eat, I want to... "Hodor, Hodor, Hodor, Hodor, Hodor," Hodor said, shaking his shoulders.He tried rocking softly, he kept trying, but he was seven feet tall and so strong he didn't even know it, and Bran was shaken until Bran's teeth chattered. "Stop shaking!" he cried angrily. "Hodor, stop, I'm back, I'm back."

Hodor stopped, looking a little embarrassed. "Hodor?" The forest and the wolves were all gone, and Bran was back, in a dank cellar at the bottom of an ancient watchtower.The tower has been abandoned for thousands of years, and even lost its shape. The overturned stones are covered with moss and ivy. Unless you get close, you don't know what the tangle is.Bran named it "The Shaken Tower," and Meera found her way down to the cellar. "You've been gone too long," Jojen?Reed was thirteen years old, only four years older than Bran, and was a small man, only two or three inches taller than Bran, but he spoke in a serious tone that made him look older and wiser than he was.At Winterfell, Old Nan called him "Little Grandfather."

Bran frowned at him. "I want to eat." "Meera will be back with dinner shortly." "I don't want to eat frogs." Meera was from the Neck and used to eating frogs, and Bran couldn't blame him, but... "I want to eat venison." For a moment, he remembered the taste of deer, blood and fat meat , salivating.For it, I fought hard.I am a winner. "Did you leave a mark on the tree?" Bran blushed.Jojen always wanted him to do something when he opened his third eye and it was Summer, like peeling bark off a tree, catching a rabbit back, or pushing a stone into a straight line.boring thing. "I forgot," he said. "You forget every time." Yes, I forget every time.In fact, I want to do it in my heart, but once I become a wolf, these things are no longer important.In summer, there is a whole world to see, a whole world to smell, and green forests for him to hunt.He can run!There is nothing better than running, nothing like chasing prey. "I am the prince, Jojen," he told the older boy, "I am the Prince of the Forest." "You are indeed a prince," Jojen reminded him softly, "but the rest is wrong. Come on, tell me who you are." "You knew it." Jojen was his friend and his teacher, but sometimes Bran just wanted to punch him. "I want you to speak. Tell me who you are." "I'm Bran," he said darkly.Crippled Bran. "Brandon? Stark." Lame boy. "Prince of Winterfell." Yet Winterfell was burned and destroyed, its people scattered and slaughtered.Gardens of shattered glass, hot spring water gushes from cracks in the walls, steaming in the sun.There is no going back to that place, how can you be a prince there? "Who is Xia Tian?" Jojen asked. "My direwolf," he said with a smile. "Prince of the Green World." "Bran the boy and Summer the direwolf. You're two separate things, aren't you?" "Two separate ones," he sighed, "one whole." Bran hated Jojen whenever he was as boring as he was now.At Winterfell, he wanted me to dream of being a wolf, and now he wants me back. "Remember who you are, Bran. Remember, or you will be swallowed by wolves. When you unite, it is not enough to run and hunt and howl in summer's skin." He's doing it for me, Bran thought. I like Summer better than I am.But as a shape changer, isn't the advantage of being able to choose the form you like? "Will you remember? Be sure to mark the tree next time. It doesn't matter which tree, as long as you do it." "I will. I'll remember. I'll go back now if you like, and never forget this time." But I'll eat the venison first, and fight the little wolves again. Jojen shook his head. "No. You have to stay and eat, with your own mouth. A wolf can't live on what his animals eat." how do you know?Bran thought angrily, you are not a wolf spirit, how do you know I can't do it? Hodor stood up abruptly, almost hitting his head against the vaulted ceiling. "Hodor!" he shouted, rushing for the door.Meera pushes open the door and enters their sanctuary. "Hodor, Hodor," said the big stable boy, grinning. Meera was sixteen years old, already a grown woman, but she was the same height as her brother.Bran asked her once why she wasn't tall, and she told him the marshmen were small.She had brown hair, green eyes, and a chest as flat as a boy's, but she walked with a grace and lightness that Bran had always envied.Meera had a long, sharp bronze dagger, but she liked to fight with a slender, three-pronged frog spear in one hand and a finely woven rope net in the other. "Is anyone hungry?" she asked, holding up her catch: two small silver trout and six fat frogs. "Me," Bran said.But he doesn't want to eat the frog.At Winterfell, before all the bad things happened, the Ward brothers had said that eating frogs would turn your teeth green and your armpits grow moss.He hadn't found either of their bodies at Winterfell...but there were so many bodies there it was impossible to see, and they hadn't searched the inside of the building. "I'll get it for you right away, would you clean it for me, Bran?" He nodded.It was not easy to be angry with Meera, she was far happier than her brother and always made him laugh.Nothing could frighten her or make her angry, oh, except Jojen, who was sometimes... actually Jojen?Reed can scare anyone.He is dressed in green, his eyes are the color of moss, and he has green dreams—dreams that must come true.Except...he dreamed that I was dying at Reek's feet, and I wasn't dead.Of course, in a sense, 'I' is indeed dead. Jojen sent Hodor out to find firewood, and built a small fire while Bran and Meera cleaned the trout and frogs.Using Meera's great iron helmet as a pot, they chopped the game into small cubes and added water and the wild onions Hodor had found.The pot of frog stew wasn't as good as venison, but it was good, Bran concluded as he ate. "Thank you," he said, "Miss Meera." "Happy to serve you, Your Highness." "Let's go tomorrow," Jiujen announced, "keep on the road." Bran could see Meera's nervousness. "You had a green dream again?" "No," he admitted. "Then why the rush to leave?" demanded his sister. "The Fallen Tower is a good place. There are no villages around, the woods are full of game, the streams and lakes are full of fish and frogs... who would come here to find us?" "This is not our destination." "But it's safe here." "I understand that it 'seems' to be safe here," Jojen said, "but for how long? There was a battle at Winterfell, and we saw the dead. War means war. ..." "Maybe that's Robb's army," Bran said. "My brother will be back from the South soon, I know. He'll come back with all the troops and drive the Ironborn out." "Your maester didn't mention Robb when he died," Jojen reminded him. "But he said the ironborn were on the Stony Shore, and Bolton's bastard was to the east. Moat Cailin and Deepwood Motte have fallen, and the heir to House Severn is dead, and the castellan of Torrhen's Square is dead. All are at war, each attacking his neighbor." "It's a rough trip," his sister said. "I know you want to go to the Wall and find the Three-Eyed Raven. It's a good idea, but it's a long way, and Bran has no legs and only Hodor. If we had horses, we'd be fine." it is good……" "If we were eagles, we could fly," said Jojen sharply. "The truth is, we have no wings any more than we have horses." "Horses can be found," Meera said. "There are foresters and farmers and hunters deep in the Wolfwood. Some have horses." "Even if they have it, what should they do? Steal it? Be a thief? The first thing we need to avoid now is to be hunted down!" "We can buy," she said, "fair trade." "Look at us, Meera. A crippled boy, a direwolf, a big simple-minded man, and two marshmen uprooted. How obvious it is. Word will spread. As long as Bran is treated like a dead man He is safe; and if word gets out that he is alive, he will be prey at once, hunted by those who really want to kill him." Jojen went to the fire and poked at the embers with his stick. "In the north, the Three-Eyed Raven awaits us. Bran needs a better teacher." "So how do we go, Jojen?" his sister asked. "How do we go?" "Walk with your feet," he replied, "step by step." "How long have we been walking from Greywater to Winterfell? Don't forget, it was on horseback. Now you want us to walk a longer distance, and you don't even know where the destination is. You said you want to cross the Wall." , Indeed, like you, I have never been there, but I know very well that there is a vast place beyond the Great Wall. Jojen, how many Three-Eyed Ravens are there? How did you find them?" "Perhaps he found us." Before Meera could answer, a voice suddenly came, it was the distant howling of a wolf drifting through the night. "Is it summer?" Jojen asked while listening. "No," Bran recognized the direwolf's voice. "Are you sure?" the little grandfather continued. "I'm sure." Xia Tian went to a far away place and won't come back until dawn.Jojen can dream green, but can't tell the difference between a wolf and a direwolf, and he wonders why everyone listens to Jojen.He wasn't a prince like Bran, he wasn't as big and strong as Hodor, and he couldn't even hunt like Meera, but somehow everyone obeyed him. "We should steal horses like Meera said," Bran couldn't help it, "and join the Umbers in Last Hearth." He thought for a while. "Or steal a boat and go down the White Dagger River to White Harbor. It's ruled by fat Lord Manderly, whom you saw at the Harvest Feast, and I liked him very much. He wanted to build a ship before, and maybe he already did. Now, we can sail to Riverrun, and come home with Robb and all his army, and then we won't have to hide, and Robb won't let anyone hurt us." "Hodor!" Hodor hiccupped, "Hodor, Hodor." He was the only one who agreed with Bran.Meera just smiled, and Jojen frowned.They never did what he said, but he was a Stark, Prince of Winterfell, and the Reeds of the Neck were only vassals after all. "Ah Ayado," Adota said, "Ah Aya Ayado, Aya Aya, Adoto -Adoto-" Sometimes he liked this, sometimes he liked this, Say your name in a cadenced way, over and over again; and sometimes, he will be very quiet, and even make you forget his existence.No one knows what the word "Hodor" actually means. "Hodor, Hodor, Hodor!" he cried. It appears he has no intention of stopping. "Hodor," he said, "why don't you practice your sword?" The stableboy had forgotten his sword until Bran reminded him. "Hodor!" He hiccupped again, and went to get his weapon.They have three swords in their party, all taken from the crypt in Winterfell, where Bran and his brother Rickon were hiding from Theon?Greyjoy's hunt.Bran took Uncle Brandon's sword, Meera took the one that lay on his grandfather, Lord Rickard's knee, and Hodor took a much older sword, a huge It has become dull and rusty since it was taken care of.But the stable boy could dance for hours at a time, and there was a withered tree beside the pile of rocks, which he had hacked to pieces on one side. After he was out, they could still hear him yelling "Hodor!" through the walls, chopping trees.Fortunately, the wolf forest is vast and there are no people around. "Jojen, what do you mean by teacher?" Bran asked. "You are my teacher. It was my fault I didn't mark the tree, but I will next time. Like you said, I opened my third eye..." "Open it too wide, and I'm afraid you'll fall in and spend the rest of your life like a wolf." "No, no, I assure you." "Boy Bran made a promise, will the direwolf Summer remember? You run with Summer, you hunt together, you kill together... You bend to his will more than you make him obey you." "I just forgot," Bran complained. "I'm only nine years old, and I'll be all right when I grow up. Even Florian the Fool and Prince Aemon the Dragonknight aren't great at nine." "That's right," Jojen said, "That makes sense, but the premise for you to grow up smoothly is that the days grow longer and the night suppressed...but the fact is just the opposite. You are the child of Summer, Bran, please remember the Stark family Proverbs." "Winter is coming." Bran shuddered. Jojen nodded solemnly, "I dreamed that a galloping wolf with long wings was bound to the ground by gray stone chains, so I rushed to Winterfell to release him. Now that the chains are loose, you still cannot fly." "Then you teach me." Bran was afraid of the three-eyed crow that often appeared in his dreams, and it endlessly pecked at the skin between his eyes, telling him to fly. "You are the Green Prophet." "No, I'm not," said Jojen, "I'm just a dreaming boy. Greenseers are far more capable than I am. First, they're wolf spirits, and like you, the greatest of them all, can wear Any form of bird or beast, flying in the sky, swimming in the water, or crawling on the land, they can also see the reality under the appearance through the eyes on the weirwood." "The gods gave men many gifts, Bran. You see, my sister was a hunter, and her gifts were swiftness in motion, motionlessness in stillness, and stealth. Her ears were sharp, her eyes sharp, her hands steady. She could walk in the mud Breathe down, run on the leaves. I can't do these things, and neither can you. In contrast, the gods gave me the power of the green dream, and gave you... Bran, you can surpass me, You are a wolf with wings, and no one can tell how high and far you can fly...but you need guidance, and I cannot help you master gifts beyond my comprehension. The Marshmen remember the First Men and Their friends, the Children of the Forest...but so much is forgotten, and so much more is not known." Meera took Bran's hand. "If we stay and don't make trouble, you may be safe until the end of the war, but you can't learn anything but what my brother can teach, and he has taught him everything; if we go away, go to the last hearth If you go to the Great Wall, or go beyond the Great Wall, you will risk being caught. I understand that you are still a child, but please believe that you are also our prince, the heir of our lord, and the heir of the country. In the name of rivers, bronze and steel, ice and fire, I swear allegiance to you. If you leave, you will take risks and discover your talents. Everything is up to you, and we, as your servants, obey your orders." She grinned . "At least in this case." "You mean," said Bran, "that you will do whatever I decide? Really?" "Really, Your Highness," the girl replied, "please think about it carefully." Bran tried to think calmly and come to the conclusion that this was what his father did.Greatjon's uncles, Morse the Crowfood and Hawther the Whorebane, were brave, and he believed in their loyalty.And the Karstarks.My father used to say that Cahoe City was indestructible.Should be safe with the Umbers or the Karstarks. Or head south to fat Lord Manderly.At Winterfell, he was always smiling, and never looked at Bran with the disdain the other lords had.And Seven, which is closer than White Harbor, but Maester Luwin said, Clay?Seven is dead.It dawned on him that the Umbers, the Karstarks, and the Manderlys might also be dead.And if caught by an ironborn or a bastard of the Boltons, he would die too. If you stay here, hiding under the Shattered Tower, no one will find it.He would live on, continue to be a cripple. Bran realized he was crying.What a silly boy, he thought, wherever you go, Cahoe City, White Harbor, even Greywater Lookout, you're still crippled.He made a fist. "I want to fly," he told them, "I want to meet the crow."