“Snow,” the bird cawed. “Snow, snow” Wherever the raven went, Mormont soon followed. The Lord Commander emerged from beneath the trees, mounted on his garron between old Dywen and the fox-faced ranger Ronnel Harclay, who’d been raised to Thoren Smallwood’s place. The spearmen at the gate shouted a challenge, and the Old Bear returned a gruff, “Who in seven hells do you think goes there? Did the Others take your eyes?” He rode between the gateposts, one bearing a ram’s skull and the other the skull of a bear, then reined up, raised a fist, and whistled. The raven came flapping down at his call. “My lord,” Sam heard Ronnel Harclay say, “we have only twenty-two mounts, and I doubt half will reach the Wall.” “I know that,” Mormont grumbled. “We must go all the same. Craster’s made that plain.” He glanced to the west, where a bank of dark clouds hid the sun. “The gods gave us a respite, but for how long?” Mormont swung down from the saddle, jolting his raven back into the air. He saw Sam then, and bellowed, “Tarly!” “Me?” Sam got awkwardly to his feet. “Me?” The raven landed on the old man’s head. “Me?” “Is your name Tarly? Do you have a brother hereabouts? Yes, you. Close your mouth and come with me.”
“With you?” The words tumbled out in a squeak. Lord Commander Mormont gave him a withering look. “You are a man of the Night’s Watch. Try not to soil your smallclothes every time I look at you. Come, I said.” His boots made squishing sounds in the mud, and Sam had to hurry to keep up. “I’ve been thinking about this dragonglass of yours.” “It’s not mine,” Sam said. “Jon Snow’s dragonglass, then Hong Kong life . If dragonglass daggers are what we need, why do we have only two of them? Every man on the Wall should be armed with one the day he says his words.” “We never knew...” “We never knew! But we must have known once. The Night’s Watch has forgotten its true purpose, Tarly. You don’t build a wall seven hundred feet high to keep savages in skins from stealing women.
The Wall was made to guard the realms of men... and not against other men, which is all the wildlings are when you come right down to it Too many years, Tarly, too many hundreds and thousands of years. We lost sight of the true enemy. And now he’s here, but we don’t know how to fight him. Is dragonglass made by dragons, as the smallfolk like to say?” “The m-maesters think not,” Sam stammered. “The maesters say it comes from the fires of the earth. They call it obsidian.” Mormont snorted. “They can call it lemon pie for all I care. If it kills as you claim, I want more of it.” Sam stumbled. “Jon found more, on the Fist. Hundreds of arrowheads, spearheads as well...” “
So you said. Small good it does us there. To reach the Fist again we’d need to be armed with the weapons we won’t have until we reach the bloody Fist. And there are still the wildlings to deal with. We need to find dragonglass someplace else.” Sam had almost forgotten about the wildlings, so much had happened since. “The children of the ,” he said. “They’d know where to find obsidian.” “The children of the forest are all dead,” said Mormont. “The First Men killed half of them with bronze blades, and the Andals finished the job with iron. Why a glass dagger should -” The Old Bear broke off as Craster emerged from between the deerhide flaps of his door. The wildling smiled, revealing a mouth of brown rotten teeth. “I have a son.” “Son,” cawed Mormont’s raven. “Son, son, son.” The Lord Commander’s face was stiff. “I’m glad for you.” “Are you, now polar.?
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