Chapter 19 Chapter Eighteen Samwell

Sobbing, Sam took another step.This is the last step, the last last step, I can't go any more, I can't go any more.But his feet moved again.One, another; one step, another.He thought: These are not my feet, they belong to someone else, someone else is walking, it cannot be me. He could look down and see the clumsy, shapeless pair stumbling across the snow, vaguely remembering that the shoes were black, but the ice and snow had frozen around them, turning them into grotesque snowballs.His legs were like two popsicles. The heavy snow never stopped.The snow was up to his knees, and a thick crust of ice covered his calf like white greaves, making his steps drag and falter.The heavy pack on his back made him look like a pack monster.I'm tired, so tired.I can't go anymore, Mother of Mercy, can't go anymore.

Every four or five steps, he had to reach for his sword belt.In fact, the sword was lost as early as the Fist of the First Men, but there are still two daggers hanging on the belt: the dragonglass dagger Jon gave and the steel dagger he used to cut meat.They were heavy, and his belly was so big and round that no matter how tight the belt was, if he forgot to lift it, it would slip and wrap around his knees.He tried tying the sword belt over his belly, but it almost reached his armpits, and Grant laughed, and a sad Eddie commented, "I once knew a guy who laced his sword like this neck. One day he slipped and fell and got his nose pierced by the hilt of his sword."

Sam slipped and fell all day and night, so he was afraid.There are not only rocky tree roots under the snow, but sometimes the frozen ground hides deep holes.Black Bernard stepped into a hole and broke his ankle. That was three days ago, or four days ago, or... He didn't know how long it had been, anyway, after that, the commander-in-chief let Bernard ride the horse. Sobbing, Sam took another step.It felt like falling instead of walking, falling endlessly without ever touching the ground, just going down, down.I have to stop, it hurts.I'm cold and tired and want to sleep...even a little sleep by the fire and eat something that isn't frozen.

But he knew that if he stopped, he would die.The few survivors are well aware of this.There were fifty of them, maybe more, when they fled the Fist of the First Men, but then some got lost in the snow, and others bled to death... Sometimes Sam heard shouts from the rear of the house, even shrieks. Call.As soon as he heard that, he started to run wildly, ran twenty or thirty yards, ran as far as he could, kicking up the snow with his feet frozen into popsicles.If the legs are stronger, he will continue.They are behind us, they are still behind us, and they are going to bring us down one by one.

Sobbing, Sam took another step.The long cold weather made him forget the feeling of warmth.He wore three pairs of stockings, two underclothes, a double coat of lambswool, a thick cotton jacket, and then cold iron mail, over which he wore a loose Coat and cloak twice as thick, fastened under the chin with a bone clasp, the hood turned forward over the forehead.He wore light wool-leather gloves over thick fur gloves, a hood tightly wrapped around his face, and a wool cap stretched over his ears under the hood.Even so, he still felt cold.Especially the feet, I can't even feel their existence—and just yesterday, they hurt so badly that it's unbearable to stand up, let alone walk?Every step made him want to scream.Was that yesterday?He doesn't know.He hadn't slept since leaving the Fist of the First Men, or since the horn sounded.Unless it's walking...can a person sleep while walking?Sam didn't know, or had forgotten again.

Sobbing, Sam took another step.Snow swirls and falls around.Sometimes it falls from the white sky, sometimes it falls from the black sky, and this is the only difference between day and night.Snowflakes hung over his shoulders like another cloak, and the snow piled high on top of the pack, making it even heavier and more unbearable.His vest was in unbearable pain, as if a dagger had been inserted into it, twisting back and forth with every step he took.His shoulders were numb from the weight of his mail.He wanted to take it off with all his heart, but he dared not take it off.Because if you want to take it off, you have to take off your coat and coat first, and it will be damaged by the cold.

It would be nice if I were stronger... But I'm not strong, so it's no use thinking about it.Sam was frail and fat, too fat to bear his own weight, and the mail was too heavy for him, and it felt like it had worn down his shoulders despite the layers of linen and cotton between the steel and the skin.All he could do was sob, and tears froze on his cheeks as he cried. Sobbing, Sam took another step.If it wasn't for the ice shell breaking under his feet, he wouldn't feel like he was walking at all.On the left and right, among the silent trees, torches can be vaguely seen, emitting an orange halo among the falling snowflakes.They moved quietly among the trees, bobbing up and down, forward and back.That was Old Bear's torch circle, he reminded himself, and mourned for those who left it.He felt that he was chasing the torches ahead, but unfortunately they also had legs, and they were longer and stronger than his, so they couldn't catch up.

Yesterday, he begged them to let him be a torchbearer, even if that meant being on the outskirts, walking under the weight of darkness.He wants fire, he dreams of fire.If there is fire, it will not be cold.Someone reminded him that he had a torch at first, but then he lost it in the snow and put the fire out.Sam doesn't remember dropping the torch and has to assume it's true.He was too weak to hold his hands up for long.Is it Eddie who said this?Is it Grant?He didn't know either.I'm fat and weak and useless, and now even my brain is frozen.Sobbing, he took another step. He covered his nose and mouth with a hood, and it was full of snot, stiff snot, and he feared it was freezing with his face.It was also difficult to breathe, the air was so cold it hurt to breathe in. "Our Lady of Mercy," he muttered softly under his frozen mask in a hoarse voice, "Our Lady of Mercy, Our Lady of Mercy, Our Lady of Mercy," dragging his feet through the snow with each prayer, "Our Lady of Mercy, Our Lady of Mercy, Our Lady of Mercy."

His own mother was thousands of miles to the south, safe in Horn Hill with his sisters and little brother Dickon.Like the Mother of Heaven, she cannot hear me.The monks all said that the Holy Mother is merciful, but the seven gods have no power outside the Great Wall.This is the land of the old gods, those nameless gods who belong to trees, wolves, and ice. "Be merciful," he whispered, no matter who heard it, old gods, new gods, or even devils... "Oh, have mercy, have pity on me." Maslin screamed and begged it to take pity on him.Why do you suddenly think of this?I shouldn't have remembered this.He staggered back, dropped his sword, fell to his knees, begged, and even took off his thick black gloves and held them up before him as a knight's gauntlet of surrender.But the ghoul grabbed his throat and lifted him into the air, nearly wringing his head off.He was still screaming and begging for mercy.The dead have no mercy, and the White Walkers... no, I shouldn't think about it, can't think about it, don't remember, just walk, walk, walk.

Sobbing, Sam took another step. A tree root under the ice shell caught his toes suddenly, and Sam staggered, fell heavily on one knee, and bit his tongue.He tasted blood, warmer than anything he had tasted since the Fist of the First Men.This is my end point, he thought, since he fell, he will never have the strength to get up again.He found a branch, held it firmly, and tried to pull himself up again, but his stiff legs couldn't hold him up.The mail was too heavy, and he was too fat, too weak, too tired. "Get up, Ser Piggy," someone called, but Sam ignored it.Just let me lie down in the snow and close my eyes.It's not too bad to die here.He was so cold that in a little while he would no longer feel the terrible pain in his back and shoulders, any more than he would feel his feet.At least they couldn't blame me for being the first to die.Hundreds died around him on the Fist of the First Men, and he'd seen many more die afterward.Trembling, Sam let go of the branch and let himself lie in the snow.The snow was cold and wet, but with the heavy clothes on, he barely noticed it.Above was a pale sky, with snowflakes falling on stomachs and chests and eyelids.It would spread out as a thick white blanket over me and keep me warm.In the future they will say that dead Sam was a dignified Night's Watch.Yes.Yes.I did my duty and did not break my oath.I was fat, weak, and timid, but I did my duty.

The crow was his duty, the only reason they took him.He'd told them he didn't want to go, he was a coward, but Maester Aemon was old and blind, and they needed him to take care of the crows.When he set up camp on the Fist of the First Men, the Commander-in-Chief went out to find him: "Listen, you're not a warrior. We know each other well, boy. If you're attacked, you don't need to fight, or you'll just get in the way. The only thing you have to do is Just send the message out, don't come and ask what to write in the letter, decide for yourself, anyway, send a bird to Castle Black, and another to the Shadow Tower." The old bear pointed Sam's face with his gloved finger . "I don't care if you pee your pants or if there are thousands of savages howling for your life, you have to make sure you get the bird out or I swear to chase you to the seven hells and kill you forever "Sorry," cried Mormont's crow, nodding his head up and down, "Sorry, sorry, sorry." Sam was sorry, he was sorry that he was neither brave nor strong;So many good people died on the Fist, they were strong and reliable, not like me, a fat boy who can only scream.At least Xiong Lao won't come to the Seven Hells to chase me.I sent the bird out and did my duty.In fact, he wrote the message in advance, very short, only one sentence: We are attacked on the Fist of the First Men.He kept it safe in its parchment bag, hoping never to have to give it away. Sam was sleeping when the horn blew.At first he thought he was dreaming of the sound of trumpets, but when he opened his eyes, snow was falling on the camp, and the brothers in black grabbed bows and spears and ran for the ring wall.Only Chett was nearby, Maester Aemon's former steward, with boils on his cheeks and a large atheroma on his neck.When the third horn groaned from the trees, Sam had never seen such fear in a man. "Help me get the bird out," he begged, but he turned and ran, knife still in hand.He had to take care of the Hound, Sam thought, and maybe the Lord Commander had given him orders too. The fingers in the glove were extremely stiff and clumsy, and trembling with fear and cold, he managed to find the pocket of parchment and pulled out the short message he had written in advance.The crows were chirping wildly, and when he opened the cage from Castle Black, one of them flew straight in his face, and two more fled before he caught another, and the crow he caught, Blood pecked his hand through the glove.He held on so desperately that he was able to bind the little roll of parchment.By this time the trumpets had died down, and the Fist of the First Men was filled with the sound of orders and the clash of steel. "Fly!" Sam yelled, throwing the crow into the air. The caged bird from the Shadow Tower shrieked and fluttered so wildly that he was too scared to open the door and had to force himself.This time he caught the first crow that tried to escape, and a moment later it rose away in the snow with the news. Duty done, next he put on his hat with frightened and clumsy fingers, put on his coat and hooded cloak, fastened his swordbelt so it wouldn't slip off, and found the package, stuffing everything inside: Spare underwear, dry socks, dragonglass arrowheads and spear points Jon gave, the old warhorn, parchment, ink, quills, a map I drew earlier, plus a stone-like section from the Great Wall that I've always kept. Hard garlic sausage.He fastened the pack and carried it on his back.The commander-in-chief said I don't need to go up the ring wall, he thought, and told me not to ask him.Sam took a deep breath, realizing he didn't know what to do next. He spun around in confusion, fear growing inside him as always.Dogs barking, horses neighing, suppressed by heavy snow, sounded far away.Nothing could be seen beyond three yards, not even the torches burning on the low stone wall that encircled the summit.Has the torch gone out?The idea is horrible.Three long horns sounded, three times representing the attack of the White Walkers.They were the white ghosts of the woods, the cold shadows, riding the giant ice spiders, chasing blood... When he was a child, these stories made him shriek and shiver. He clumsily drew his sword out of its sheath and trudged through the snow.A dog ran past barking.He saw some men from the Shadow Tower, with big beards, carrying long axes and eight-foot spears.He felt safer with them, so he followed them to the wall.A shiver of relief went through him as the torches burned on the circular stone wall. The brothers in black stood side by side with weapons in hand, watching the snow fall and waiting.Ser Malador Locke rode by, his helmet speckled with snow.Sam stood behind the others, searching for Grenn and a brooding Eddie.If I was destined to die, I'd rather die with my friends, he remembered thinking.It's a pity that there are strangers all around, the people of the Shadow Tower, commanded by a ranger named Bane. "Here they come," said one brother. "Nocking arrows," said Ben, silently drew twenty black feathered arrows from twenty quiveres, and hit twenty bowstrings. "Bless the gods, there are hundreds," another brother said softly. "Pull the bow," said Ben, and added, "Don't panic." Sam couldn't see anything, and he didn't want to.The Night's Watch waited behind the torches, bows drawn to their ears, as something climbed up the dark, slippery slope through the snow. "Don't panic," Ben emphasized again, "Don't panic, don't panic..." Then—"Let it go." Feathered arrows whizzed out. There was a ragged cheer from the people lined up along the perimeter wall, which died down in seconds. "They don't stop, my lord," one said to Ben, and another called, "There's more coming! Look there, in the woods," said another, "Gods be merciful, they're still climbing .Almost coming up, right now!" Sam stepped back, trembling like the last leaf on an autumn tree, both cold and frightened.It was cold that night, even colder than now.There is nice warm snow right now.I feel much better.Just take a little more rest, a little bit, and you'll be able to recover and move on.Take a short rest. A horse passed overhead, a shaggy gray horse with a snow-covered mane and ice-covered hooves.Sam watched it appear and disappear.Another horse came out of the snowfall, led by a man in black.He saw Sam in the way, and cursing him, he led the horse around.I wish I had a horse too, he thought. If I had a horse, I could go on and sit in the saddle and even sleep for a while.But most of the mounts had been lost at the Fist of the First Men, and the rest were laden with food and torches and wounded men, but Sam was not hurt, he was just fat and weak and timid. What a coward he is.Lord Randyll, his father, had often said so, and now it proved to be right.Sam is the heir of the Tarly family, but he is so incompetent that he was sent to the Great Wall by his father.His younger brother Dickon would inherit the land and the castle, as well as the Valyrian greatsword Broken Heart that the lords of Hornhill have proudly worn for centuries.I don't know if Dickon will shed a tear for this brother who died in the snow far away at the edge of the world.Why is he crying?Not worth crying for cowards.He had heard his father tell his mother a thousand times.Even Old Xiong understands this. "Rockets," the Lord Commander came roaring out of nowhere that night on the Fist of the First Men, "give them fire!" and he noticed Sam trembling. "Tully! Get out of here! Go take care of the crow!" "I... I... I sent the message away." "Very well," repeated Mormont's crow on his shoulder. "Very well, very well." The commander-in-chief, clad in furs and armor, looked massive, his eyes glistening behind a black iron mask. "Get out of your way here, and go back to the crow's cage. I don't want to have to see you first when I need a message. Get those birds ready!" he called, turning his horse's head and trotting along the ring wall, without waiting for an answer, "Fire! Give them a taste of fire!" Sam fled back to the cage as fast as those fat legs could go without anyone saying a second.I can write the message first, he thought, and send it as quickly as possible if needed.So he lit a little fire, and spent no time in melting the frozen ink, then, sitting on a stone by the fire, took up his quill and parchment, and began to write. In the cold and snow, we were attacked, but the rockets drove the enemy back, he wrote.Thoren Smallwood shouted, "Nock the arrow, draw the bow... release." The sound of the flying arrows was as sweet as the prayer of the Virgin. "Burn it, you bloody bastards, burn it," Devon yelled, laughing out loud.The brothers cheered and cursed again.Everyone is safe, he wrote, and we are still on the Fist of the First Men.Sam hoped that their bow skills were better than his own. He put the written letter aside and took out another blank parchment.We fought on the Fist of the First Men, and the snow fell.Only one person shouted, "They haven't stopped." The effect of the counterattack is not yet clear. "Take up the spear," someone called.It might have been Sir Malador who spoke, but Sam couldn't be sure.The ghouls continue to kill through the snow, he wrote, and we drive them away with fire.He turned his head, and through the swaying snow, he could see only the great fire in the center of the camp, around which men on horseback moved restlessly.That's the reserve, for pounding anything that breaks through the ring wall.Instead of carrying swords, they lighted torches in bonfires and armed themselves with them. Ghouls are everywhere, he wrote, and heard shouts from the north.They attacked simultaneously from the north and the south.Spears and swords are useless, only fire can stand against them. "Let it go, let it go!" one voice screamed in the night, another screamed, "Damn it! It's big!" said a third voice, "Giant!" A fourth voice insisted, "Bear , a bear!" The horse neighed, and the hound barked, so many voices that Sam could no longer distinguish them.He wrote faster, letter after letter.Enemies include swarms of dead savages, a giant, and even a bear that stalk the hills and plains.He heard the clang of steel and wood, which meant only one thing: the wights had passed the ring wall, and the battle was raging in the camp.A dozen brothers on horseback galloped past him ferociously, heading towards the east wall, each holding a burning torch in their hands, the flames dancing.Lord Commander Mormont met with fire.We have won.We are winning.We are holding on.We want to fight a bloody road and retreat back to the Great Wall.We are trapped on the Fist of the First Men, besieged from all sides. A Shadow Tower figure stumbled out of the darkness and fell at Sam's feet.Before dying, he crawled to within a foot of the fire.Lost, Sam wrote, the battle was lost, we lost. Why do I remember the battle on the Fist of the First Men?He shouldn't remember this, he doesn't want to remember it.He tried to remember his mother, his sister Tara, the girl named Gilly in Craster's Keep.Someone is shaking his shoulders. "Get up," said a voice, "Sam, you can't sleep here. Get up and go on!" I didn't sleep, just rested. "Go away," he said, his words frozen in the air, "I'm fine, I just want to rest." "Get up." It was Grenn's voice, hoarse and harsh.He appeared above Sam, his black clothes frozen over. "No rest, says the Old Bear. You will die." "Glenn," he smiled, "no, really, I'm fine here. You go, I'll rest for a while, and I'll catch up." "No wonder!" Grant's bushy brown beard froze around his mouth, making him look old. "You're going to freeze or get caught by the White Walkers. Get up, Sam!" I remember that the night before leaving the Great Wall, Pyp taunted Grenn in his usual way. He smiled and said that Grenn was best suited to join the patrol, because he was too stupid to be afraid.Grant vehemently denies it until he realizes what he's talking about.Well, he was strong, strong, and powerful--Ser Alliser Thorne called him "Stupid Bull," as Sam "Ser Pighead" and Jon "Lord Snow"--but had always been quite friendly with Sam.That's only Jon's sake, and none of them would like me without Jon.Jon was gone now, missing in Windsound Gap with Qhorin Halfhand, probably dead.Sam wanted to cry for him, but the tears would freeze too, and his eyes were already closed. A tall brother with a torch stopped beside them, and for that wondrous moment Sam felt warm. "Let him go," the man said to Grant. "If you can't go, it's over. Save yourself some effort, Grant." "He'll get up," Grant replied stubbornly, "just need someone else's help." The man moved on and took the divine warmth with him.Grant tried to pull Sam up. "It hurts," he complained. "Stop it, Grant, you're hurting my arm. Stop it. "You're dead." Grant stuffed his hands under Sam's armpits, snorted, and picked him up.But as soon as he let go, the fat man sat back on the snow again.Grant kicked him hard, and the ice on his boots shattered and flew away. "Get up!" He kicked him again, "Get up and keep going! You can't give up!" Sam lay on his side, curled up tightly into a ball to protect himself from the kick.Protected by layers of wool, leather, and armor, he felt little pain, and even so, it hurt.I thought Grant was my friend.Friends shouldn't kick me.Why don't they let me rest?I just want to sleep for a while, that's all, rest, rest, sleep, maybe die. "Help me carry the torch, and I will carry this fat boy." He suddenly left the soft and sweet snow blanket, was lifted into the cold air, and drifted forward.There is one arm under the knee, and the other arm is under the back.Sam looked up, blinking.There was a face in front of him, a broad and rough face, with a flat snub nose, small black eyes, and shaggy brown beards.He had seen the face before, but it took him a while to remember it.It's Paul.Little Paul.The heat of the torches melted the ice water, which flowed into his eyes. "Can you lift him?" he heard Grant ask. "I lifted a calf that was heavier than him. I carried it back to its mother so it could have milk." Sam's head bobbed up and down with every step little Paul took. "Stop," he murmured, "put me down, I'm not a baby. I'm a man of the Night's Watch." He sobbed. "Let me die." "Be quiet, Sam," Grant said. "Save your energy. Think of your brothers and sisters. Think of Maester Aemon. Think of your favorite food. Sing a song, if you can." "Sing out loud?" "Sing it in your head." Sam knew hundreds of songs, but now he couldn't remember any of them, as if the words had all disappeared from his mind.He began to sob again. "I don't know any songs, Grant. I should know a little, but now I don't remember." "It's okay," Grant said. "Look, how about 'The Bear and the Pretty Girl'? Everyone can sing it! 'This bear, bear, bear! All black and brown, covered in plush!'" "No, don't sing this," begged Sam.He remembered the bear on the Fist of the First Men, not a hair on its rotting flesh.I don't want to think of anything about bears. "Stop singing, please, Grant." "Then think of your crow." "They are not mine." They are the Lord Commander's ravens, the Ravens of the Night's Watch. "They belong to Castle Black and the Shadow Tower." Little Paul frowned. "Chett said I could keep the bear's crow, just the talking bird. I'd save the corn for him, too." He shook his head. "Oh, I forgot again, I left the corn in the hidden place." He continued to walk forward heavily, with pale breath coming out of his mouth every step he took.After a long time, he suddenly said, "Can I have a crow for you? Just one, I promise, I won't let Lak eat it." "They all flew away," said Sam. "I'm sorry." I'm so sorry everybody. "They probably all flew back to the Great Wall." When the horn sounded again and ordered the brothers to mount their horses, he released all the birds.Two short and one long, the instruction to get on the horse urgently.There's no reason to mount a horse, unless it's to give up the Fist of the First Men, unless it's a complete defeat in battle.Fear gnawed at Sam, and the only thing he could do was to open the cage, and it wasn't until he saw the last crow flapping its wings into the blizzard that he realized that none of the messages he had written had gone away. "No," he screamed, "oh, no, oh, no." The snow was flying, the trumpet was blowing, ah woo woo woo woo woo woo woo woo woo woo woo Whoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo,Sam saw two crows perched on a rock and hurried over, but the birds flapped their wings lazily and flew in opposite directions into the swirling snow.He chased one of them, his breath coming out of his nostrils like a thick cloud, and staggering, he found himself only ten feet away from the ring wall. And then...he remembered crawling over the rocks, dead men with arrows in their faces and throats, some in mail, some almost naked...most wildlings, some in faded black.He remembered seeing a Shadow Tower man thrust a spear into a wight's pale, limp belly and straight through the back, but the thing staggered straight up the barrel, stretched out its black hands, and twisted the brother. head until blood spurted from his mouth.Sam was almost certain that it was the first time he had wet his pants that day. He didn't remember running away, but he must have, for he was next to the fire half a camp away, with old Ser Odin Wellers and the archers.Ser Odin knelt in the snow, scanning the chaos around him in horror, until an unridden horse galloped past and kicked him in the face.The archers ignored this and fired rockets at the shadows in the dark.Sam saw a ghoul engulfed in flames after being shot, but there were a dozen more behind, including a huge, pale figure that must have been a bear, and the archers were running out of ammo soon. Next Sam was on the horse.It wasn't his horse, and he didn't remember getting on it, so maybe it was the one that had kicked Ser Otting in the face.The horn continued to blow, and he ran in the direction of the sound. In the midst of carnage and chaos and snow, he saw sad Eddie on pony, carrying the plain black banner of the Night's Watch on his spear. "Sam," Eddie said when he saw him, "will you do me a favor and wake me up? I'm having a terrible nightmare." More people mounted every moment, and the battle cry rallied them all.Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh "They have crossed the Western Wall, my lord," Thoren Smallwood yelled at the old bear, struggling to control his mount, "I will lead the reserves..." "No!" roared Mormont, trying to get his voice over the horn. "Bring them back, and we break through!" He stood in the stirrups, his black cloak flapping in the wind, his armor gleaming in fire. "All in line!" he shouted. "Wedge formation, let's ride out! First south, then east!" "My lord, the southern hillside is covered with those things!" "It's too steep elsewhere!" said Mormont. "We'll have to—" The bear staggered out of the snow, and Sam's horse neighed and nearly threw him off.He peed his pants again.Thought it was all pissed.It was a dead bear, pale in color, with rotting flesh, peeling fur, and the upper part of its right foreleg burned to the bone, but it was still moving.Those eyes are alive.Bright blue, as Jon said, twinkling like frozen stars.Thoren Smallwood rushed forward, his sword glowing orange in the firelight.His swing nearly decapitated the bear, and the bear slapped his head off. "Run!" shouted the Commander-in-Chief, turning his horse around. When they reached the ring wall, the people and horses had entered a galloping state.Sam had always been afraid to let the horse jump, but when the low stone wall appeared in front of him, he knew he had no choice this time.So he kicked the horse, closed his eyes, and let out a whimper.The horse jumped over him, somehow, somehow, the horse jumped over him!The rider on his right crashed into the wall, a mess of steel and leather and neighing horses, and then the ghouls swarmed up... down the hill in wedge formation, through captured black hands, through bright blue eyes Through the time, through the bitter wind and snow.Sometimes horses fell and rolled, sometimes people fell to the ground, sometimes torches swirled in the air, and sometimes axes and swords slashed at dead flesh and blood.Samwell Tarly was sobbing, and he didn't know where he got the strength, but he just held on tight to the horse. He is in the galloping vanguard, with brethren at the front, at the rear, at the left, at the right.A hunting dog ran with them for a while, weaving back and forth among the horses along the snow-covered slopes, but finally ran slower and slower.The ghouls standing still were knocked over by the horses and trampled by the horses' hoofs, but even though they fell down, they still grabbed the long swords, stirrups and horse legs.Sam saw a wight holding a horse by the saddle with his left hand, while tearing the horse's belly with his right. Trees suddenly appeared around, and Sam splashed across a frozen stream.The sound of fighting gradually diminished behind them.He breathed a sigh of relief, turned his head and panted... Unexpectedly, a man in black suddenly jumped out of the bushes and pulled him off the saddle.Sam didn't see it clearly at all, and the person who came jumped on the horse and galloped away.He tried to run, tripped over a tree root, and fell flat on his face, whimpering like a baby, until sad Eddie followed the sound. That was his last coherent memory of the Fist of the First Men.Then, hours later, he stood trembling among the survivors, half on horseback, half on foot.It was miles and miles from the Fist of the First Men, but Sam couldn't remember how he got there.When fleeing for his life, Dywen took five pack horses, loaded with food, oil and torches, and three of them managed to escape.So the Old Bear redistributed the goods so that if any of the pack horses were lost, it would not be a catastrophic loss; circle, as a defense.I'll just keep walking, Sam told himself, and I'll be home.But after walking for less than an hour, he started to stagger and fell behind... And the three of them are now falling further and further behind, he knows.I remember Piper once said that little Paul was the strongest man in the Night's Watch.It must be, so you can hold me and go.Even so, the snow ahead became deeper and deeper, the ground became more and more dangerous, and Paul's steps became smaller and smaller.More horsemen passed by, and the wounded looked at Sam with dull, indifferent eyes.Some torchbearers are also over the past. "You're falling behind," said one of them.Another agreed, "Nobody's going to wait for you, Paul, leave this pig to the dead." "He promised me a bird," said little Paul, though Sam didn't promise, not really.They are not mine and cannot be given away. "I want a bird that can talk and eat corn off my hand." "What a fool," said the torchbearer, and went away. After a while, Grant stopped suddenly. "We're falling behind," he hissed. "No other torches in sight. Where's the rear?" Little Paul was speechless.The big man fell to his knees with a grunt, his arms shaking as he lowered Sam gently into the snow. "I can't hold you anymore. I want to hold you, but I can't hold you," he trembled violently. The wind sighed among the trees, blowing fine snow particles into their faces.It was cold, unbearably cold, and Sam felt like he was wearing nothing.He searched for the torches, but they were gone, none of them to be seen—except for the one in Grenn's hand, its flame rising like pale orange silk.Through it, he could see the darkness in the distance.It will burn out soon, he thought, and there will be only the three of us, no food, no friends, no fire. it's not true.He was wrong. The lower branches of the huge green sentinel tree moved, shaking off the heavy snow on it, and making a vague "puchi" sound.Grenn turned around and held out the torch, "Who's there!?" A horse's head emerged from the darkness.Sam felt a moment of relief until he saw the whole horse.它全身包裹一层白霜，活像结冻的汗水，黑色僵死的肠子从裂开的腹部拖坠而下，在它背部，坐了一位玄冰般苍白的骑手。山姆喉咙深处发出一声呜咽，他吓坏了，只想尿裤子，可体内有股寒意，剧烈的寒意，把膀胱冻得严严实实。异鬼优雅地下马，挺立在雪地里。它像长剑一般纤细，如牛奶一样白皙，它的盔甲随着移动而改变颜色，而它的脚丝毫没有踩碎新雪的结冰。 小保罗取下绑在后背的长柄斧，“你为什么伤害这匹马？这是毛尼的马。” 山姆摸向自己的剑，鞘是空的。他这才想起把它丢在了先民拳峰。 “滚开！”葛兰跨了一步，火炬伸在前面。“滚开，否则烧死你！”他用火焰指着它。 异鬼的剑闪着淡淡而诡异的蓝光。它移向葛兰，闪电般攻打过来。冰蓝的剑刃扫过火焰，发出尖锐的响声，如针一样刺痛山姆的耳朵。火炬头被切下，翻落在深深的积雪中，火焰立即熄灭，葛兰手里只剩一小段木棍。他诅咒着将它朝异鬼扔去，小保罗则提起斧子冲锋。 此刻充斥他心中的恐惧，比以往任何情形尤有甚之，而山姆威尔·塔利早已了解每一种恐惧。“圣母慈悲，”他抽噎着，惊恐中，将北方的旧神统统抛诸脑后，“天父保佑，噢，噢……”他伸手胡乱摸索，够到一把匕首。 尸鬼的行动笨拙而缓慢，但异鬼如风中的雪花一样轻盈。它闪过保罗的长柄斧，盔甲的图案如波光般涟漪，而水晶的剑回扣、翻转，滑进保罗锁甲的铁环间，穿过皮革、羊毛、骨头与血肉，从他后背“嘶嘶嘶嘶嘶嘶嘶嘶嘶嘶嘶嘶嘶嘶”地穿出。只听保罗叫了声“噢”，斧子便从手里松脱。他被钉在水晶剑上，热血在周围蒸汽朦朦，大个子抓向对手，可在几乎快要碰到时，倒了下去，他的体重将那柄诡异的白剑从异鬼手中拉扯下来。 停，停下别哭，停下来战斗，你这没用的小子。战斗啊，胆小鬼！这是父亲的声音？艾里沙·索恩的声音？弟弟狄肯的声音？还是那个叫雷斯特的男孩？胆小鬼，胆小鬼，胆小鬼！他歇斯底里地笑起来，不知它们会不会把他也变成尸鬼，一个又白又胖又大的尸鬼，一个老是被已死的双脚绊倒的尸鬼。停，停下别哭，停下来战斗。这是琼恩的声音？不可能，琼恩已经死了。你能行，你能行，快啊。于是他跌跌撞撞地往前撞去，与其说在跑，不如说是跌倒前的踉跄，他闭起眼睛，双手握住那把匕首，盲目地乱戳。只听喀嚓一声，好像冰在脚下碎裂的响动，随后是一声尖啸，如此犀利，以至于他扔了匕首，双手捂住耳朵，盲目向后退去，一屁股沉重地坐到地上。 当他睁开眼睛，异鬼的盔甲正像露水一样融化，黑色的龙晶匕首插在它咽喉，淡蓝的血从伤口喷出，在匕首周围嘶嘶冒气。它伸出两只骸骨般苍白的手去拔匕首，但指头一触到黑曜石便开始冒烟消解。 山姆侧身坐起，瞪大了眼睛，异鬼的身躯正逐渐缩小，混沌模糊，化为一滩液体，最后彻底消失。几十个心跳间，形体已然不存，只余细细一缕盘旋散发的烟雾。下面是乳白玻璃般的骨头，闪着苍白的光，接着也融化了。最后，只有龙晶匕首存留，水汽缭绕中，它仿佛有了生命，好像在出汗。葛兰弯腰去拣，却又立即将它甩开，“圣母啊，它好冷！” “这是黑曜石，”山姆挣扎着跪起来，“他们管它叫龙晶。龙晶。龙晶。”他咯咯发笑，然后大哭一场，将所有的勇气倾倒在雪地上。 葛兰扶山姆起身，检查了小保罗的脉搏后，替他合上眼睛，然后再次抓起匕首。这回拿得住了。 “你留着它，”山姆道，“你不像我，你不是胆小鬼。” “好个胆小鬼，连异鬼都杀得了。”葛兰用匕首向前指指，“看哪，看到了吗？光明正穿过树木照进来。天亮了，山姆，天亮了，那就是东方。我们只需往前走，就一定找到莫尔蒙。” “随你怎么说。”山姆用左脚踢了一棵树，以振落上面的雪，接着右脚也踢。“我试试看，”他苦着脸跨了一步，“努力试试看，”接着又跨一步。