Переводчик не справилась со стихами, поэтому все они даны ссылками на оригинальном языке. Простите =
When winter’s clutch is cold and dark
And game is scarce and forest stark,
This songster to the hearth retreats
To warm his cheeks and icy feet.
But on the hill and in the glen
Are hunters hardier than men.
With lolling tongues and eyes that gleam
They surge through snow with breath like steam.
For in the hunt there is no morrow,
Time does not wait. There is no sorrow
As blood spills black and snarls are rife.
For life is meat, and death brings life.
— «A SONG FOR NIGHTEYES AND HIS FRIEND,» HAP GLADHEART
3
With the Red Ships at our doors and our noble King Shrewd failing in both body and mind,
The young bastard saw his opportunity. He felled him. With magic and might of muscle,
He took from the duchies the king they needed. And from Prince Regal he stole
His father, his mentor, his rock of wisdom.
The kindness bestowed on a bastard felled him.