“Oh, my sweet summer child, " Old Nan said quietly, "what do you know of fear? Fear is for the winter, my little lord, when the snows fall a hundred feet deep and the ice wind comes howling out of the north. Fear is for the long night, when the sun hides its face for years at a time, and little children are born and live and die all in darkness while the direwolves grow gaunt and hungry, and the white walkers move through the woods”
― George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones мои попытки подружиться снова с фотошопом в поисках вдохновения
