﻿At first, when we first moved in, this place was infested with rats. The spearmen killed the bastards. Now it's teeming with spearmen. Sometimes I wish it was the other way around.
An axe as a gift to a wildling? A good thing.
Why not give him all our axes and swords to boot? They rattle too much, but it's driving time. Without them, we'll get there faster - straight to hell.
Do you think it's raining in hell too? Maybe it's better to give Craster a good hat?
You can not be afraid to swim on the ship, #. He's definitely not going to drown, because I'm not on board.
I know the northern forest, I wouldn't want to be in it alone at night.
Divin says we should learn to ride dead horses like white walkers. How much would they save for one feed — is there a lot of dead horse needed?
As soon as the commanders force the dead horses to work, it will be our turn. "Edd—" they will tell me, "death is no longer a reason to lie idle — get up, take a spear and go out on guard at night."
I smell only horse shit, and even soup. One looks like the other, if you sniff pretty.
We have one brother drowned in wine. The swill was so-so, and the drowned man did not improve it.
I wouldn't want to be killed with a club. I saw a man who was hit on the forehead with a baton - the skin burst quite a bit, but the head swelled like your pumpkin. He was good-looking, but the freak died a freak.
Beware of rats, #. They make a monstrous squeal if you step on them. My mother used to squeal at me too when I was a boy.
The gods always smiled at Wat. Even when the wildlings threw him off the Bridge of Skulls, he managed to splash into deep water. Dead, of course, but he didn't fall on the rocks.
They say that # is just the kind of person who can be put up against an entire army. # they will all be counted in a moment - a big hunter to the count.