Mance is fallen浦北同城网 , the survivors told each other in despairing voices, Mance is taken, Mance is dead. “Harma’s dead and Mance is captured, the rest run off and left us,” Thistle had claimed英雄祭演员表 , as she was sewing up his wound. “Tormund, the Weeper池秀媛 , Sixskins, all them brave raiders. Where are they now?”She does not know me李英幼 , Varamyr realized then, and why should she? Without his beasts he did not look like a great man. I was Varamyr Sixskins, who broke bread with Mance Rayder. He had named himself Varamyr when he was ten. A name fit for a lord小郑多彬 , a name for songs, 989a mighty name, and fearsome. Yet he had run from the crows like a frightened rabbit. The terrible Lord Varamyr had gone craven奈菲尔塔利 , but he could not bear that she should know that, so he told the spearwife that his name was Haggon. Afterward he wondered why that name had come to his lips冷君虐妃 , of all those he might have chosen. I ate his heart and drank his blood, and still he haunts me.One day, as they fled, a rider came galloping through the woods on a gaunt white horse何丽玲 , shouting that they all should make for the Milkwater, that the Weeper was gathering warriors to cross the Bridge of Skulls and take the Shadow Tower. Many followed him; more did not. Later, a dour warrior in fur and amber went from cookfire to cookfire馨荣堂日记 , urging all the survivors to head north and take refuge in the valley of the Thenns. Why he thought they would be safe there when the Thenns themselves had fled the place Varamyr never learned, but hundreds followed him. Hundreds more 989went off with the woods witch who’d had a vision of a fleet of ships coming to carry the free folk south. “We must seek the sea夏一可照片 ,” cried Mother Mole, and her followers turned east.Varamyr might have been amongst them if only he’d been stronger. The sea was grey and cold and far away重筑人生 , though, and he knew that he would never live to see it. He was nine times dead and dying金孝善 , and this would be his true death. A squirrel-skin cloak怀集领域网 , he remembered, he knifed me for a squirrel-skin cloak.Its owner had been dead, the back of her head smashed into red pulp flecked with bits of bone, but her cloak looked warm and thick. It was snowing, and Varamyr had lost his own cloaks at the Wall. His sleeping pelts and woolen smallclothes旅馆大堂对面 , his sheepskin boots and fur-lined gloves,霍凡 谢东杨钰莹 his store of mead and hoarded food王富信 , the hanks of hair he took from the women he bedded, even the golden arm rings Mance had given him, all lost and left behind. I burned and I died and then I ran, half-mad with pain and terror. The memory still shamed him杨松简历 , but he had not been alone. Others had run as well易经时代 , hundreds of them, thousands. The battle was lost. The knights had come朱松花 , 989invincible in their steel陈正昊, killing everyone who stayed to fight. It was run or die.