The rocky recess4 was one of the favourite holts of his kind, partly on account of the dry lying it afforded, but more because of its congenial surroundings. The seclusion6, the gloom, the roar of the fall, and the tumult7 of the pool all contributed to please the shy wildling; and he became so fond of the ledge8 by the foaming9 waters that, like a badger10 to its earth, the young nomad11 returned to it again and again, till at length the instinct to roam began to cry out against his unnatural12 conduct and urged him to seek new quarters. ‘Wander, wander,’ repeated the voice that grew more insistent13 as the days stole by. ‘Tarry, my child, tarry,’ replied the spirit of the glen; and for a while—a little while—he resolved to stay. Yet before his short sojourn14 came to an end the pool was sought by a hunted stag and turned into a pandemonium15.
THE OTTER.
Reproduced by kind permission of Mr. J. G. Millais.
To face p. 84.
Not by mere16 chance, after rounding the base of Lone2 Tarn17, was the beast’s antlered head set for the ravine. It was there he had first seen the light. The early weeks of his life had been spent in the ferny clearing where the otter’s trail ran, and his mother used to lead him, a dappled calf18, down the steep bank to drink at the shallows of the otter’s pool. Four years had passed since then; but the memory of the sombre, sequestered19 glen and of the pool at the foot of the high fall was still clear in his mind, and to them he turned his wearied steps in the hour of his distress20. After crossing the rugged21 purlieus of the woodland, he threaded his way between the stems of the birches and, entering the ravine at its lower end, made his way up and up along the shaded waters until he came opposite the holt, where a submerged rock permitted foothold. His wild rush through the shallows had filled the startled sleeper22 with alarm; but the otter did not understand the cause of the strange creature’s distress until the cry of the pursuers caught his ears—a cry that swelled23 louder and louder until every hound had splashed into the pool and swam there, baying their quarry24 with deafening25 clamour. More than once whilst the din5 was at its height the otter was on the point of slipping into the water and stealing away; but it was well he refrained, for presently the stag broke its bay and made off down the river, drawing the pack after it.
Then, though calm returned to the pool from which it had been so ruthlessly banished26, it brought no peace to the otter. A peel leaped where the stag had stood, trout27 rose where the hounds had clustered, pigeons ‘roohooed’ overhead, and a squirrel came down and drank at the water, yet the otter was still perturbed28. His faith in the holt was gone, and he longed for dusk that he might leave it and get away from the taint29 of hound that drowned the scent30 of moss31 and fern and poisoned the sweet, fresh breath of the river. He did not await the fall of night, for a faint glow yet lighted the spaces between the boles when he left, and as he came out upon the moor, the sky was still red with the embers of sunset. Far ahead loomed32 the familiar outline of the solitary33 hill, as yet unvisited; and now at last he determined34 to follow the stream that veined it to the summit, and there find the refuge that the specious35 ravine denied.
At a good pace he moved over the heather and bog36 till, a furlong or so beyond some stacks of turf, he came to a sudden standstill. It seemed as if he had caught some suspicious sound along the back trail, for his head was suddenly turned that way; but, discerning nothing, he resumed his brisk trot37 along the bank that at this point rose high above the rushing river. Soon he came to the tributary38 down which his mother had led him and, swimming Moor Pool, as the meeting of the waters is called, he crossed to the opposite bank and kept it till he reached the troubled ‘Kieve’ at the base of the hill. As though haunted by the memory of the hounds, he again looked back over the moor, now black under the stars; but in the end, after peering long and satisfying himself that no enemy followed his trail, he slipped into the foaming basin in search of the trout it contained, and on two of these fish made a hurried supper before beginning the climb of the great cone39 that towered grim and forlorn above him. He kept close to the wild, headlong stream, and made the ascent41 by scrambling42 up the rocks that abutted43 on fall and cascade44. Far, far up, his nostrils45 caught the scent of a body of water, and in his eagerness to reach it he redoubled his pace and soon gained the crest46. There he found himself face to face with a tarn—a tarn of aspect as forbidding as the strangely contrasted shores that encompass47 it, for the sheet of water lies sullen48 and monotonous49 between precipitous rocks and a beach of grey shingle50. No islet rears its head above the surface; no line of flotsam marks the shelving strand51. The wanderer had come out on the shingly52 beach, and after sniffing53 the water he trotted54 leisurely55 along its edge, and presently descried56 a small bed of reeds, till then hidden by a rocky headland. Gladdened by the discovery, he mended his pace, yet kept surveying the tarn, doubtless on the lookout57 for signs of prey58. A wave in the shallows, a splash, or even a dimple, any break of the water, would have betrayed the presence of some finny inhabitant, of which, however, his nose had given him no hint; but the surface had no message for him. Neither was there a single wild-fowl; there was no animal of any sort. At the far end, however, and almost in his path as he made the circuit of the pool, lay the skeleton of a giant pike. Though the vertebr? had dropped into crannies between the stones, the bleached59 skull60, its open jaws61 bristling62 with teeth, was the most conspicuous63 object on that desolate64 shore. Yet dry bones apparently65 had no more interest for him than the newly risen moon, for he passed on and clambered over the rocks towards the reeds, where he was soon at work preparing a couch in which to pass the coming day. The unusual noise awoke a buzzard in his eyrie above, and kept him awake until the otter ceased trampling66 the stems and entered the water; then he lowered his head on his wing and dropped asleep again.
The otter, meanwhile, swam towards the horn of the bay, his long back flush with the surface, scarce rippled67 by his advance. When clear of the point, he dived and began exploring the recesses68 and ledges69. There was not a harbourage along the cliff’s base that he did not investigate, but he did not sight a single fish. Reaching the glassy surface by the overflow70, he spreadeagled himself and drifted more and more quickly towards the lip of the fall, till it seemed that nothing could save him from going over; but within a foot or two of the brink71 he suddenly wheeled, and extricated72 himself by rapid strokes that took him within a score yards of the beach. Then he dived again and quested along the stretch between the shallows and the deep. This likely hunting-ground also proved as void of fish as the water under the cliff; so at the farther end he landed, shook his coat, and rolled on the shingle, thus catching73 the skull of the pike, which he sent flying over the stones. The rattle74 it made caused him to run after it, and the grim toy served to amuse him, for he played with it much as a kitten plays with a ball.
Not so had its owner been bandied about by his forbears. More than one otter, appalled75 by his great bulk and terrible jaws, had shrunk from tackling him: even the father of the cub76 was glad, after a tussle77 that convulsed the little bay, to reach the rocks and escape with his life. But famine had effected what no enemy could effect—a famine caused by the ravages78 of otter, of heron, of cormorant79, of the pike themselves, reducing the fish one by one till only the monster of the reedy bay remained. Whilst strength lasted he made a daily circuit of his wasted realm for prey to satisfy his maddening hunger. As his weakness increased, his beat dwindled80, until one day, after but a short cruise, it was all he could do to regain81 his station among the reeds. There he lingered till death claimed him. His gaunt carcass, still beautiful with its marblings of olive and gold, rose to the surface, and the west wind wafted82 it to the strand, where the terror of one generation became the sport of the next.
The otter, however, soon tired of toying with the skull and, leaving it where he found it, he made along the rocks towards the spot where the precipice83 rises almost sheer from the tarn, and began to scour84 the face of the cliff. He seemed as surefooted as a marten, and never once slipped or stumbled as he dropped from shelf to shelf whose scanty85 width in places all but denied foothold. Three times he made the descent, leaping from ledge to ledge like the overflow rushing down the hillside; but, unlike the stream, he leaped in silence, save for the muffled86 thud of his spongy feet as they struck the rock on landing. The last time he dived, rose at the end of a long swim by the boulder87 flanking the outlet88, climbed to the top, and lay down at full length. The water ran from his unshaken coat, leaving it smooth and refulgent89 in the moonlight, as he reposed90 there gazing at the windings91 of the river on the plain below. Soon however the restless creature rose and plunged92 again into the tarn, where he gambolled93, partly on the surface, but chiefly beneath amongst the currents that well up from the unfathomed depths. And so the hours sped till, when the moon had set and the stars wellnigh paled, he gave over disporting94 himself and swam towards his lair95. On the way thither96, forgetting that he was alone, he uttered the dawn cry, and the next moment rounded the point and gained the reeds. In the grey light, the buzzard winging his way to the moorland saw him curled up there, holding one of his pads in his mouth,—asleep, as he knew by the slow, regular rise and fall of his flank.
But what creature is that astir near the outlet? It must be some other wildling come to share the primal97 solitude98 of the hilltop. Yet its movements are not those of a four-footed beast. Surely, surely it is a—is it possible? Yes, it is a man! He is clear of the rocks now, and is picking his way across the current. Now he has landed, and look, look how he hurries up the strand, and how suddenly he drops to the ground on the crest! Strange conduct in this lone place and at such an hour! He must be under the ban of his fellows, a fugitive99, maybe, from hue100 and cry, and fearful of discovery.
Nothing of the kind. That man is Grylls the harbourer, from the deer forest; but otter, not stag, has drawn101 him here this morning, and eagerness to examine the ground below is the reason of his haste. Already, glass to eye, he follows the course of the tributary on his left, hopeful every second of seeing an otter making its way to the clitter near the stream. How carefully he scans the banks, and what a time he dwells on the pile of hoary102 rocks yet spectral103 in the uncertain light! ‘No luck, no luck,’ he mutters, as he turns the glass to the tributary zigzagging104 across the western moor. Yet he is all expectation, and great will be his joy if only he can get a glimpse of the long, dark creature hieing to some holt. Away up to the boggy105 gathering106 ground he traces the narrowing water, surveys in vain the pools amidst that curlew-haunted waste, then with quick movement, redirects the glass to the clitter, already much less dim and mysterious. Little wonder that that particular refuge attracts him so strongly, that he scrutinizes107 the approaches so carefully. It was there that he once marked an otter enter; and the memory of the sport it gave has drawn him year after year to the hilltop in the hope of harbouring another. Again and again he surveys first one stream, then the other, but with no better result; then he hurriedly examines the river from the foot of the hill to Moor Pool, where the hounds will presently meet. ‘Nothin’ movin’, nothin’ at all, and day close handy. You may as well shut up the glass.’ Soon the fleecy clouds crowding the vault108 are tinged109 with rose, pool and stream catch the foreglow, the reflection in the tarn is like an almond grove110 in bloom, and the sun shows below the crimson111 streaks112 that had heralded113 it. At the sight Grylls returns the glass to his pocket and, feeling chilled, jumps to his feet and walks briskly up and down on the rim40 of the great basin to warm himself.
Had he seen an otter he would by this be crossing the moor to meet the squire114 and tell, instead of pacing to and fro waiting for the hounds and glancing down now and again towards the spot where he expects to see them. It is full day by this, and river and tributary stream stretch across the purple moorland like golden threads. ‘Grand mornin’. Ah! if we can only find!’ he sighed, as the uncertainty115 of the sport flashed across his mind. ‘If! But there, man, ’tes no use iffin’. Wait and hope for the best.’ All at once the harbourer stopped and, screwing up his eyes, looked steadily116 towards the solitary clump117 of pines to which from time to time he had directed his gaze. ‘Here they come, and a good few with ’em. Ah! ah! and there’s one, two, three, four comin’ up-river, and Matthey—it caan’t be anybody else—crossing the foord. There’ll be a brave little meet to end the season.’ Then he lay down again on the heather, raised the glass to his eye, and turned it on the party with the hounds. ‘The squire and the passun, of coorse. Wonder if church moosic or hound cry do stir un most. “Everything in its season, Grylls,” that would be his answer, and said kindly118. He is a good sort, is the passun, and dearly loves a kill. And theere’s Doctor Jim, in his white hat. Lor’! he ain’t missed the Moor Pool meet for seven-and-thirty year. Iss, seven-and-thirty year, Grylls, and it’s seven-and-thirty times you’ve sat where you’re sittin’ now to the hour, and wellnigh to the day, and’—counting the notches119 on his stick—‘it’s nine otters120 you’ve seen killed on the moor. Who can they be with the Doctor? Strainyers, I reckon, stayin’ at the big house most like. Ah! theere’s Black Geordie, and the keeper, and the landlord, and Tom “Burn the Reed” walkin’ with the bailiff hisself as large as life and as brazen121 as Sally Strout at the christenin’. Well, he’s got a face, and no mistake! Wonder how many salmin he’s took out this turn.’
Thus he lay and made his comments whilst the party approached Moor Pool, but no sooner did they reach the bank than his demeanour changed and he sprang to his feet as though an adder122 had stung him. And no wonder, for the hounds at once struck the line of the otter, and made down-river at full cry. ‘Well now, Grylls,’ said he, ‘is it go or stay? Why, stay, of coorse; sure as you’re alive they’ll be back again.’ So he stood watching and watching and watching till hounds and men became blurred123 by distance, and at last disappeared into the wood. ‘You’re out of it, git chucklehead!’ said he, as he lowered the glass. ‘Why didn’t ’ee go down to the meet as you always do? You’re gettin’ lazy. You’re out of it, out of it, and come fifteen mile for nothin’! Pick up the pony124 and shog home along; there’s nothin’ else for ’ee to do.’ In his rage he kicked the loose rock at his feet, and sent it bounding down the face of the hill. Nevertheless, it was not many seconds before he was again scrutinizing125 the spot where the river falls to the ravine, and before long he exclaimed, ‘Halloo! what’s that? Ah, theere ’tes again and again; the glint of the horn, I’ll be bound.’ He was all excitement now, and watching as he had never watched before in his life. ‘What’s that—eh, eh? It’s they, it’s they! See, thee’re crossin’ the bend of Zingey Pool.’ Though the hounds were scarcely discernible he was right: they were returning and becoming more and more distinct every minute. ‘Hoorah,’ he shouted in his exultation126; ‘the otter must have come up-water laast night; wheere’s he lyin’, wonder.’ His eyes, almost starting from his head, followed the pack as it drew nearer and nearer to Moor Pool. They reached it; then he was all anxiety to see whether they would take up the tributary or keep to the river. Like a man toeing the line for a foot-race he stood ready to start, and if they had gone up the stream he would have descended127 the hill at breakneck speed; but they did not: they came on. ‘Niver such a bit of luck in all my born days,’ said he, his weather-beaten face beaming with delight. Presently, as the deep bay, like the bay of bloodhounds, reached his ears: ‘What moosic! how wild and savage128 and grand it is! eh, and what a sight for one pair of eyes! The squire’d give gold to be in my shoes.’ Not for a single instant did the harbourer divert his gaze from the pack. ‘Pretty, pretty,’ he kept saying as the hounds, time after time, recovered the line momentarily lost. ‘They’re travellin’ fast. It’s time to be going down. I’ll lay a groat the otter’s in the Kieve.’ With a bound he was off and, following the overflow, had just reached the big boulder from which the buzzard sometimes watched the moor, when, to his surprise, he saw Dosmary and Tuneful just beginning the ascent of the hill.
‘Niver lyin’ up round the tarn! ’Tes ten year agone since they found theere. However, here they come, here the beauties come.’
There was a strange tenderness in his voice, but the light that leapt to his eyes told still more plainly how he was stirred. He watched them for a few moments, so that the whole pack was in sight before he began retracing129 his steps, and quickly as his sinewy130 legs carried him up the steep, the hounds had passed him when he gained the crest. Quivering with excitement, he stood again for a moment with his eyes on them as they streamed along the strand; then he tore along in their wake.
He might have covered twoscore yards, during which the pack had swept round the end of the tarn to the rocks, when a crash of music proclaimed the find, and brought him up in his stride. Soon the white-and-tan heads of the leading hounds showed as they rounded the point. One glance he gave them—only one: then his eyes were all for the otter. Whilst he watched the water well in front of the pack, the otter rose, shook his head, rested until his pursuers were within a few yards of him, and dived, showing his back and rudder. ‘Takin’ things quietly, are ’ee?’ said the harbourer in high glee; and then, presently, on observing the hounds lick up the scent as they swam, ‘They’re tonguing the ream brave.’ Scarcely were the words out of his mouth, when up came the otter within a few yards of him. The excited ‘Tally-ho!’ with which he greeted him made the welkin ring.
The squire would always have it that he heard the penetrating131 scream; but however that may be, it was a good half-hour before he appeared on the summit, and by that time the otter had given the pack the slip and set the harbourer wondering what had become of it. He was amongst the reeds and hidden by the rocks when the squire came up near the overflow, but his cries, as he cheered the pack, betrayed his whereabouts, and presently the squire hailed him across the tarn: ‘Have you viewed the otter, my man?’ ‘Iss, sir, over and over again, but he’s creapt away somewheere out of mark.’ The hounds raised their heads on hearing their master’s voice, and when he sang out, ‘Seek him, my lads! wind him, my lads!’ they bustled132 about, searching along the foot of the cliff as if they meant to find; and very soon they did find, but in a place where neither hounds nor terrier could reach the quarry. The doctor, who was nearest, at once made his way to the spot where the hounds were clamouring and, lying flat on the ledge, succeeded in dislodging the game from its retreat by means of the pole he carried. Thus driven from his only refuge, the otter got no rest. As a good scent guided the hounds, the hunted creature’s only chance lay in wearying out his pursuers. And what endurance he showed! He dived hither and thither for over three hours and never landed once; but all in vain, the pack showed no signs of tiring.
At last, in desperation, he slipped over the fall into the pool below and passed down the stream, searching for a hiding-place as he went. Soon he reached the boulder from which the harbourer had watched the hounds and, sighting the crevice133 at its base, swam through the narrow opening to the hollowed space within. Scarcely was he ensconced when he heard the cry of his pursuers, and a minute later the maddened creatures were roaring at the mouth of his retreat. Squire and followers134 came tearing down the hill, and when the whipper-in had succeeded in calling off the hounds, Venom135, the terrier, was sent in to drive the otter out. ‘He’ll soon have un out,’ said a man in a blue guernsey who knew his worth. But hard and game as the terrier was, the otter was his match. So the squire must have thought, for he determined to send Vic to his assistance. As soon as she was released, the eager little thing swam whining136 along the passage and joined in the fight; but, owing to the cramped137 quarters, instead of assisting her mate she hampered138 him. Once the tip of the otter’s rudder showed momentarily, raising the excitement to fever-pitch; but this was followed by a long spell during which not a hair of either terrier or otter was visible.
‘They’ll never drive un, squire,’ the woodman ventured to say. ‘Why not flood the varmint out? Theere’s a good head of water.’
‘Too good a head, I fear; but we’ll try. The terriers have had about enough. Get ’em out if you can.’
Watching his opportunity, the woodman managed to pull Vic out almost at once, and Venom after a while. Both were terribly cut up. The sight of their wounds angered the squire, who at once called out: ‘Now, men, build a dam, and look lively; that otter shan’t live another hour.’ All set to work. Except the whipper-in, who had as much as he could do to look after the hounds, every man lent a hand. Some brought big stones, others armfuls of heather, others stone-crop stripped from the rocks, whilst Geordie the gipsy, the parson, the miller139 and the water-bailiff constructed the dam. Under their eager hands the wall rose steadily across the tail of the pool, and before long the impounded stream began to creep inch by inch up the face of the rock. In half an hour the mouth of the holt was covered; soon, too, the stone which had provided a resting-place for the otter; so that he now was compelled to plant his fore-feet against the wall to keep his head above water. Still the water rose, and but for the presence of the imprisoned140 air the hollow would have been filled and the beast forced to leave and meet its fate in the open. Yet, contracted though the space became, there was a small interval141 between the water and the roof, and there the otter’s nostrils still found relief.
Meanwhile the men at the dam had all they could do to hold the stream back; and presently, despite their frantic142 efforts, the obstruction143 gave way, and the whole mass rushed roaring down the hill.
‘Don’t much matter, squire; the otter’s drownded before this.’
‘May be; but will you put your hand in and draw him out?’
‘No, thank ’ee,’ replied the miller amidst the loud laughter of the crowd. ‘Geordie’s the man for that job.’
‘I don’t mind trying, sir,’ said the gipsy, who unhesitatingly approached the rock, knelt in the water, put in his hand to the full length of his arm, and began feeling blindly about the inside. He had worked round three sides and reached the corner to the right when the otter gripped him by the ball of the thumb. His face, which was half turned to the onlookers144, must have betrayed the pain he felt, for the woodman called out: ‘Have ’ee got un, Geordie?’
‘I don’t know about that,’ replied Geordie, ‘but he’s got me.’
Slowly he drew the resisting creature towards the aperture145, but on being brought to the light it let go, and allowed the man to rise to his feet.
‘Rather a nasty wound, Geordie,’ said the squire, putting half a sovereign in the bleeding palm.
‘Thank you, sir; ’tes only a scratch to some I’ve had. I’ll have another try if you like, sir.’
‘No, no, my man, not on any account. The otter deserves his life. We’ll leave him for another season, and I hope we may meet again.’
Little did he dream that the game beast which had baffled his best efforts was to become the talk of the country-side, and would for many a day disappoint his hopes and flout146 his plans.
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1
otter
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| n.水獭 | |
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2
lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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recess
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| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
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din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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foaming
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| adj.布满泡沫的；发泡 | |
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10
badger
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| v.一再烦扰，一再要求，纠缠 | |
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nomad
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| n.游牧部落的人，流浪者，游牧民 | |
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unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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13
insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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14
sojourn
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| v./n.旅居，寄居；逗留 | |
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15
pandemonium
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| n.喧嚣，大混乱 | |
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16
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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tarn
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| n.山中的小湖或小潭 | |
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calf
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| n.小牛，犊，幼仔，小牛皮 | |
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sequestered
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| adj.扣押的；隐退的；幽静的；偏僻的v.使隔绝，使隔离( sequester的过去式和过去分词 )；扣押 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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sleeper
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| n.睡眠者，卧车，卧铺 | |
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23
swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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24
quarry
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| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
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deafening
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| adj. 振耳欲聋的, 极喧闹的 动词deafen的现在分词形式 | |
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banished
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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trout
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| n.鳟鱼；鲑鱼(属) | |
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perturbed
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| adj.烦燥不安的v.使（某人）烦恼，不安( perturb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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taint
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| n.污点；感染；腐坏；v.使感染；污染 | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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31
moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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33
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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35
specious
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| adj.似是而非的；adv.似是而非地 | |
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36
bog
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| n.沼泽；室...陷入泥淖 | |
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37
trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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38
tributary
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| n.支流；纳贡国；adj.附庸的；辅助的；支流的 | |
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39
cone
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| n.圆锥体，圆锥形东西，球果 | |
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40
rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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41
ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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42
scrambling
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的现在分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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43
abutted
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| v.（与…）邻接( abut的过去式和过去分词 )；（与…）毗连；接触；倚靠 | |
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44
cascade
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| n.小瀑布，喷流；层叠；vi.成瀑布落下 | |
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45
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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46
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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47
encompass
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| vt.围绕，包围；包含，包括；完成 | |
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48
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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49
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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50
shingle
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| n.木瓦板；小招牌(尤指医生或律师挂的营业招牌)；v.用木瓦板盖（屋顶）；把（女子头发）剪短 | |
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51
strand
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| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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52
shingly
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| adj.小石子多的 | |
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53
sniffing
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| n.探查法v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的现在分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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54
trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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55
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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56
descried
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| adj.被注意到的，被发现的，被看到的 | |
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57
lookout
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| n.注意，前途，瞭望台 | |
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58
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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59
bleached
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| 漂白的，晒白的，颜色变浅的 | |
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60
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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61
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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62
bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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63
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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64
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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65
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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66
trampling
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| 踩( trample的现在分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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67
rippled
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| 使泛起涟漪（ripple的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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68
recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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69
ledges
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| n.（墙壁，悬崖等）突出的狭长部分( ledge的名词复数 )；（平窄的）壁架；横档；（尤指）窗台 | |
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70
overflow
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| v.(使)外溢，(使)溢出；溢出，流出，漫出 | |
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71
brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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72
extricated
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| v.使摆脱困难，脱身( extricate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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73
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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74
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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75
appalled
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| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
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76
cub
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| n.幼兽，年轻无经验的人 | |
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77
tussle
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| n.&v.扭打，搏斗，争辩 | |
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78
ravages
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| 劫掠后的残迹，破坏的结果，毁坏后的残迹 | |
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79
cormorant
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| n.鸬鹚，贪婪的人 | |
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80
dwindled
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| v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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81
regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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82
wafted
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| v.吹送，飘送，（使）浮动( waft的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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83
precipice
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| n.悬崖，危急的处境 | |
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84
scour
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| v.搜索；擦，洗，腹泻，冲刷 | |
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85
scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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86
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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87
boulder
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| n.巨砾；卵石，圆石 | |
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88
outlet
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| n.出口/路；销路；批发商店；通风口；发泄 | |
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89
refulgent
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| adj.辉煌的，灿烂的 | |
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90
reposed
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| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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91
windings
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| （道路、河流等）蜿蜒的，弯曲的( winding的名词复数 )； 缠绕( wind的现在分词 )； 卷绕； 转动（把手） | |
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92
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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93
gambolled
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| v.蹦跳，跳跃，嬉戏( gambol的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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94
disporting
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| v.嬉戏，玩乐，自娱( disport的现在分词 ) | |
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95
lair
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| n.野兽的巢穴；躲藏处 | |
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96
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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97
primal
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| adj.原始的；最重要的 | |
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98
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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99
fugitive
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| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
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100
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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101
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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102
hoary
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| adj.古老的；鬓发斑白的 | |
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103
spectral
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| adj.幽灵的，鬼魂的 | |
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104
zigzagging
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| v.弯弯曲曲地走路，曲折地前进( zigzag的现在分词 )；盘陀 | |
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105
boggy
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| adj.沼泽多的 | |
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106
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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107
scrutinizes
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的第三人称单数 ) | |
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108
vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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109
tinged
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| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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110
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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111
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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112
streaks
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| n.（与周围有所不同的）条纹( streak的名词复数 )；（通常指不好的）特征（倾向）；（不断经历成功或失败的）一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 )；使布满条纹 | |
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113
heralded
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| v.预示( herald的过去式和过去分词 )；宣布（好或重要） | |
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114
squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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115
uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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116
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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117
clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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118
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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119
notches
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| n.（边缘或表面上的）V型痕迹( notch的名词复数 )；刻痕；水平；等级 | |
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120
otters
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| n.（水）獭( otter的名词复数 )；獭皮 | |
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121
brazen
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| adj.厚脸皮的，无耻的，坚硬的 | |
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122
adder
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| n.蝰蛇；小毒蛇 | |
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123
blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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124
pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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125
scrutinizing
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的现在分词 ) | |
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126
exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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127
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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128
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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129
retracing
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| v.折回( retrace的现在分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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130
sinewy
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| adj.多腱的，强壮有力的 | |
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131
penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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132
bustled
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| 闹哄哄地忙乱，奔忙( bustle的过去式和过去分词 )； 催促 | |
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133
crevice
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| n.(岩石、墙等)裂缝；缺口 | |
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134
followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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135
venom
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| n.毒液，恶毒，痛恨 | |
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136
whining
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| n. 抱怨，牢骚 v. 哭诉，发牢骚 | |
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137
cramped
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| a.狭窄的 | |
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138
hampered
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| 妨碍，束缚，限制( hamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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139
miller
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| n.磨坊主 | |
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140
imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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141
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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142
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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143
obstruction
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| n.阻塞，堵塞；障碍物 | |
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144
onlookers
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| n.旁观者，观看者( onlooker的名词复数 ) | |
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145
aperture
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| n.孔，隙，窄的缺口 | |
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146
flout
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| v./n.嘲弄，愚弄，轻视 | |
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