This was the Fist of the First Men Beyond the Wall, a suffocating place.
The Night's Watch's defensive network formed a vast ring, with most of the men holding off the attack along the stone wall.
A mounted reserve circled anxiously around the great bonfire at the center of camp. These were the assault troops.
Fortunately, the torches on the circular stone wall at the summit were still burning. They looked orange, and a shiver of relief ran through the men of the Night's Watch.
The ravens cried still louder, and Chet's dogs barked along with them.
Every warrior of the Night's Watch had now risen, donned his armor, adjusted his scabbard, and taken up his battle-axe and longbow. They hurried to the circular wall.
I've forgotten what the south even feels like, Samwell Tarly thought bitterly. Warm Horn Hill, warm sunshine, lay countless miles away.
Sam put on his mail. The ravens flapped, shrieked, fluttered, and slammed hard against the bars of their cages. Chet abruptly appeared beside him, seemingly up to no good.
Many men of the Night's Watch loathed this expedition. Sam could tell.
Why isn't he watching his hounds? What's he doing? When Chet saw Sam arrive, he turned and left. Sam also saw the dagger in his hand and found it strange.
"We have come under attack at the Fist of the First Men, apparently by an army of the dead." Sam wrote the sentence on parchment. The black ravens in the cages had already gone wild, whether they belonged to Castle Black or the Shadow Tower.
Sam prepared eight pieces of parchment, each bearing the same sentence.
Damn it, I should have found someone to help, Sam thought bitterly. The fingers inside his gloves were stiffening with cold and fear, but this was his