The village was called Beddagama, which means the village in the jungle. It lay in the low country or plains, midway between the sea and the great mountains which seem, far away to the north, to rise like a long wall straight up from the sea of trees. It was in, and of, the jungle; the air and smell of the jungle lay heavy upon it—the smell of hot air, of dust, and of dry and powdered leaves and sticks. Its beginning and its end was in the jungle, which stretched away from it on all sides unbroken, north and south and east and west, to the blue line of the hills and to the sea. The jungle surrounded it, overhung it, continually pressed in upon it. It stood at the door of the houses, always ready to press in upon the compounds and open spaces, to break through the mud huts, and to choke up the tracks and paths. It was only by yearly clearing with axe1 and katty that it could be kept out. It was a living wall about the village, a wall which, if the axe were spared, would creep in and smother2 and blot3 out the village itself.
There are people who will tell you that they have no fear of the jungle, that they know it as well as the streets of Maha Nuwara or their own compounds. Such people are either liars4 and boasters, or they are fools, without understanding or feeling for things as they really are. I knew such a man once, a hunter and tracker of game, a little man with hunched-up shoulders and peering, cunning little eyes, and a small dark face all pinched and lined, for he spent his life crouching6, slinking, and peering through the undergrowth and the trees. He was more silent than the leopard7 and more cunning than the jackal: he knew the tracks better than the doe who leads the herd8. He would boast that he could see a buck9 down wind before it could scent10 him, and a leopard through the thick undergrowth before it could see him. 'Why should I fear the jungle?' he would say. 'I know it better than my own compound. A few trees and bushes and leaves, and some foolish beasts. There is nothing to fear there.' One day he took his axe in his hand, and the sandals of deer-hide to wear in thorny11 places, and he went out to search for the shed horns of deer, which he used to sell to traders from the towns. He never returned to the village again, and months afterwards in thick jungle I found his bones scattered12 upon the ground, beneath some thorn-bushes, gnawed13 by the wild pig and the jackal, and crushed and broken by the trampling14 of elephants. And among his bones lay a bunch of peacock feathers that he had collected and tied together with a piece of creeper, and his betel-case, and the key of his house, and the tattered15 fragments of his red cloth. In the fork of one of the thorn-bushes hung his axe: the massive wooden handle had been snapped in two. I do not know how he died; but I know that he had boasted that there was no fear in the jungle, and in the end the jungle took him.
All jungles are evil, but no jungle is more evil than that which lay about the village of Beddagama. If you climb one of the bare rocks that jut16 up out of it, you will see the jungle stretched out below you for mile upon mile on all sides. It looks like a great sea, over which the pitiless hot wind perpetually sends waves unbroken, except where the bare rocks, rising above it, show like dark smudges against the grey-green of the leaves. For ten months of the year the sun beats down and scorches17 it; and the hot wind in a whirl of dust tears over it, tossing the branches and scattering18 the leaves. The trees are stunted19 and twisted by the drought, by the thin and sandy soil, by the dry wind. They are scabrous20, thorny trees, with grey leaves whitened by the clouds of dust which the wind perpetually sweeps over them: their trunks are grey with hanging, stringy lichen21. And there are enormous cactuses, evil-looking and obscene, with their great fleshy green slabs22, which put out immense needle-like spines23. More evil-looking still are the great leafless trees, which look like a tangle24 of gigantic spiders' legs—smooth, bright green, jointed25 together—from which, when they are broken, oozes26 out a milky27, viscous28 fluid.
And between the trees are the bushes which often knit the whole jungle together into an impenetrable tangle of thorns. On the ground beneath the trees it is very still and very hot; for the sterile29 earth is covered with this thorny matted undergrowth, through which the wind cannot force its way. The sound of the great wind rushing over the tree-tops makes the silence below seem more heavy. The air is heavy with the heat-beating up from the earth, and with the smell of dead leaves. All the bushes and trees seem to be perpetually dying for ten months of the year, the leaves withering31, and the twigs32 and branches decaying and dropping off, to be powdered over the ground among the coarse withered33 grass and the dead and blackened shrubs34. And yet every year, when the rains come, the whole jungle bursts out again into green; and it forces its way forward into any open space, upon the tracks, into villages and compounds, striving to blot out everything in its path.
If you walk all day through the jungle along its tangled35 tracks, you will probably see no living thing. It is so silent and still there that you might well believe that nothing lives in it. You might perhaps in the early morning hear the trumpeting36 and squealing37 of a herd of elephants, or the frightened bark of the spotted38 deer, or the deeper bark of the sambur, or the blaring call of the peacock. But as the day wore on, and the heat settled down upon the trees, you would hear no sound but the rush of the wind overhead, and the grating of dry branches against one another. Yet the shadows are full of living things, moving very silently, themselves like shadows, between the trees, slinking under the bushes and peering through the leaves.
For the rule of the jungle is first fear, and then hunger and thirst. There is fear everywhere: in the silence and in the shrill39 calls and the wild cries, in the stir of the leaves and the grating of branches, in the gloom, in the startled, slinking, peering beasts. And behind the fear is always the hunger and the thirst, and behind the hunger and the thirst fear again. The herd of deer must come down to drink at the water-hole. They come down driven by their thirst, very silently through the deep shadows of the trees to the water lying white under the moon. They glide40 like shadows out of the shadows, into the moonlight, hesitating, tiptoeing, throwing up their heads to stare again into the darkness, leaping back only to be goaded41 on again by their thirst, ears twitching42 to catch a sound, and nostrils44 quivering to catch a scent of danger. And when the black muzzles45 go down into the water, it is only for a moment; and then with a rush the herd scatters46 back again terror-stricken into the darkness. And behind the herd comes the leopard, slinking through the undergrowth. Whom has he to fear? Yet there is fear in his eyes and in his slinking feet, fear in his pricked47 ears and in the bound with which he vanishes into the shadows at the least suspicious sound.
In the time of the rains the jungle might seem to be a pleasant place. The trees are green, and the grass stands high in the open spaces. Water lies in pools everywhere; there is no need to go stealthily by night to drink at rivers or water-holes. The deer and the pig roam away, growing fat on the grass and the young leaves and the roots; the elephant travels far from the river bank. The time of plenty lasts, however, but a little while. The wind from the north-east drops, the rain fails; for a month a great stillness lies over the jungle; the sun looks down from a cloudless sky; the burning air is untempered by a breath of wind. It is spring in the jungle, a short and fiery48 spring, when in a day the trees burst out into great masses of yellow or white flowers, which in a day wither30 and die away.
The pools and small water-holes begin to dry up under the great heat; the earth becomes caked and hard. Then the wind begins to blow from the south-west, fitfully at first, but growing steadier and stronger every day. A little rain falls, the last before the long drought sets in. The hot, dry wind sweeps over the trees. The grass and the shrubs die down; the leaves on the small trees shrivel up, and grow black and fall. The grey earth crumbles50 into dust, and splits beneath the sun. The little streams run dry; the great rivers shrink, until only a thin stream of water trickles51 slowly along in the middle of their immense beds of yellow sand. The water-holes are dry; only here and there in the very deepest of them, on the rocks, a little muddy water still remains52.
Then the real nature of the jungle shows itself. Over great tracts53 there is no water for the animals to drink. Only the elephants remember the great rivers, which lie far away, and whose banks they left when the rains came; as soon as the south-west wind begins to blow, they make for the rivers again. But the deer and the pig have forgotten the rivers. In the water-holes the water has sunk too low for them to reach it on the slippery rocks; for days and nights they wander round and round the holes, stretching down their heads to the water, which they cannot touch. Many die of thirst and weakness around the water-holes. From time to time one, in his efforts to reach the water, slips, and falls into the muddy pool, and in the evening the leopard finds him an easy prey54. The great herds55 of deer roam away, tortured by thirst, through the parched56 jungle. They smell the scent of water in the great wind that blows in from the sea. Day after day they wander away from the rivers into the wind, south towards the sea, stopping from time to time to raise their heads and snuff in the scent of water, which draws them on. Again many die of thirst and weakness on the way; and the jackals follow the herds, and pull down in the open the fawns57 that their mothers are too weak to protect. And the herds wander on until at last they stand upon the barren, waterless shore of the sea.
Such is the jungle which lay about the village of Beddagama. The village consisted of ten scattered houses, mean huts made of mud plastered upon rough jungle sticks. Only one of the huts had a roof of tiles, that of the village headman Babehami; the others were covered with a thatch58 of cadjans, the dried leaves of the cocoanut-palm. Below the huts to the east of the village lay the tank, a large shallow depression in the jungle. Where the depression was deepest the villagers had raised a long narrow bund or mound59 of earth, so that when the rain fell the tank served as a large pond in which to store the water. Below the bund lay the stretch of rice-fields, about thirty acres, which the villagers cultivated, if the tank filled with water, by cutting a hole in the bund, through which the water from the tank ran into the fields. The jungle rose high and dense60 around the fields and the tank; it stretched away unbroken, covering all the country except the fields, the tank, and the little piece of ground upon which the houses and compounds stood.
The villagers all belonged to the goiya caste, which is the caste of cultivators. If you had asked them what their occupation was, they would have replied 'the cultivation61 of rice'; but in reality they only cultivated rice about once in ten years. Rice requires water in plenty; it must stand in water for weeks before it grows ripe for the reaping. It could only be cultivated if the village tank filled with water, and much rain had to fall before the tank filled. If the rains from the north-east in November were good, and the people could borrow seed, then the rice-fields in January and February were green, and the year brought the village health and strength; for rice gives strength as does no other food. But this happened very rarely. Usually the village lived entirely62 by cultivating chenas. In August every man took a katty and went out into the jungle and cut down the undergrowth, over an acre or two. Then he returned home. In September he went out again and set fire to the dead undergrowth, and at night the jungle would be lit up by points of fire scattered around the village for miles; for so sterile is the earth, that a chena, burnt and sown for one year, will yield no crop again for ten years. Thus the villagers must each year find fresh jungle to burn. In October the land is cleared of ash and rubbish, and when the rains fall in November the ground is sown broadcast with millet63 or kurakkan or maize64, with pumpkins65, chillies, and a few vegetables. In February the grain is reaped, and on it the village must live until the next February. No man will ever do any other work, nor will he leave the village in search of work. But even in a good year the grain from the chenas was scarcely sufficient for the villagers. And just as in the jungle fear and hunger for ever crouch5, slink, and peer with every beast, so hunger and the fear of hunger always lay upon the village. It was only for a few months each year after the crop was reaped that the villagers knew the daily comfort of a full belly66. And the grain sown in chenas is an evil food, heating the blood, and bringing fever and the foulest67 of all diseases, parangi. There were few in the village without the filthy68 sores of parangi, their legs eaten out to the bone with the yellow, sweating ulcers69, upon which the flies settle in swarms70. The naked children, soon after their birth, crawled about with immense pale yellow bellies71, swollen72 with fever, their faces puffed73 with dropsy, their arms and legs thin, twisted little sticks.
The spirit of the jungle is in the village, and in the people who live in it. They are simple, sullen74, silent men. In their faces you can see plainly the fear and hardship of their lives. They are very near to the animals which live in the jungle around them. They look at you with the melancholy75 and patient stupidity of the buffalo76 in their eyes, or the cunning of the jackal. And there is in them the blind anger of the jungle, the ferocity of the leopard, and the sudden fury of the bear.
In Beddagama there lived a man called Silindu, with his wife Dingihami. They formed one of the ten families which made up the village, and all the families were connected more or less closely by marriage. Silindu was a cousin of the wife of Babehami, the headman, who lived in the adjoining compound. Babehami had been made a headman because he was the only man in the village who could write his name. He was a very small man, and was known as Punchi Arachchi[1] (the little Arachchi). Years ago, when a young man, he had gone on a pilgrimage to the vihare[2] at Medamahanuwara. He had fallen ill there, and had stayed for a month or two in the priest's pansala. The priest had taught him his letters, and he had learnt enough to be able to write his own name.
Silindu was a cultivator like the other villagers. The village called him 'tikak pissu' (slightly mad). Even in working in the chena he was the laziest man in the village. His real occupation was hunting; that is to say he shot deer and pig, with a long muzzle-loading gas-pipe gun, whenever he could creep up to one in the thick jungle; or, lying by the side of a water-hole at night, shoot down some beast who had come there to drink. Why this silent little man, with the pinched-up face of a grey monkey and the long, silent, sliding step, should be thought slightly mad, was not immediately apparent. He seemed only at first sight a little more taciturn and inert77 than the other villagers. But the village had its reasons. Silindu slept with his eyes open like some animals, and very often he would moan, whine78, and twitch43 in his sleep like a dog; he slept as lightly as a deer, and would start up from the heaviest sleep in an instant fully49 awake. When not in the jungle he squatted79 all day long in the shadow of his hut, staring before him, and no one could tell whether he was asleep or awake. Often you would have to shout at him and touch him before he would attend to what you had to say. But the strangest thing about him was this, that although he knew the jungle better than any man in the whole district, and although he was always wandering through it, his fear of it was great. He never attempted to explain or to deny this fear. When other hunters laughed at him about it, all he would say was, 'I am not afraid of any animal in the jungle, no, not even of the bear or of the solitary80 elephant (whom all of you really fear), but I am afraid of the jungle.' But though he feared it, he loved it in a strange, unconscious way, in the same unconscious way in which the wild buffalo loves the wallow, and the leopard his lair81 among the rocks. Silent, inert, and sullen he worked in the chena or squatted about his compound, but when he started for the jungle he became a different man. With slightly bent82 knees and toes turned out, he glided83 through the impenetrable scrub with a long, slinking stride, which seemed to show at once both the fear and the joy in his heart.
And Silindu's passions, his anger, and his desire were strange and violent even for the jungle. It was not easy to rouse his anger; he was a quiet man, who did not easily recognise the hand which wronged him. But if he were roused he would sit for hours or days motionless in his compound, his mind moving vaguely84 with hatred85; and then suddenly he would rise and search out his enemy, and fall upon him like a wild beast. And sometimes at night a long-drawn howl would come from Silindu's hut, and the villagers would laugh and say, 'Hark! the leopard is with his mate,' and the women next morning when they saw Dingihami drawing water from the tank would jeer86 at her.
At length Dingihami bore twins, two girls, of whom one was called Punchi Menika and the other Hinnihami. When the women told Silindu that his wife was delivered of two girls, he rushed into the hut and began to beat his wife on the head and breasts as she lay on the mat, crying, 'Vesi! vesi mau! Where is the son who is to carry my gun into the jungle, and who will clear the chena for me? Do you bear me vesi for me to feed and clothe and provide dowries? Curse you!' And this was the beginning of Silindu's quarrel with Babehami, the headman; for Babehami, hearing the cries of Dingihami and the other women, rushed up from the adjoining compound and dragged Silindu from the house.
Dingihami died two days after giving birth to the twins. Silindu had a sister called Karlinahami, who lived in a house at the other end of the village. Misfortune had fallen upon her, the misfortune so common in the life of a jungle village. Her husband had died of fever two months before: a month later she bore a child which lived but two weeks. When Dingihami died, Silindu brought her to his hut to bring up his two children. Her hut was abandoned to the jungle. When the next rains fell the mud walls crumbled87 away, the tattered roof fell in, the jungle crept forward into the compound and over the ruined walls; and when Punchi Menika was two years old, only a little mound in the jungle marked the place where Karlinahami's house had stood.
Karlinahami was a short, dark, stumpy woman, with large impassive eyes set far apart from one another, flat broad cheeks, big breasts, and thick legs. Unlike her brother she was always busy, sweeping88 the house and compound, fetching water from the tank, cooking, and attending to the children. Very soon after she came to Silindu's house she began to talk and think of the children as though she had borne them herself. Like her brother she was slow and sparing of speech; and her eyes often had in them the look, so often in his, as if she were watching something far away in the distance. She very rarely took much part in the interminable gossip of the other village women when they met at the tank or outside their huts. This gossip is always connected with their husbands and children, food and quarrels.
But Karlinahami was noted89 for her storytelling: she was never very willing to begin, but often, after the evening meal had been eaten, the women and many of the men would gather in Silindu's compound to listen to one of her stories. They sat round the one room or outside round the door, very still and silent, listening to her droning voice as she squatted by the fire and stared out into the darkness. Outside lay Silindu, apparently90 paying no attention to the tale. The stories were either old tales which she had learnt from her mother, or were stories usually about Buddha91, which she had heard told by pilgrims round the campfire on their way to pilgrimages, or in the madamas or pilgrims' resting-places at festivals. These tales, and a curious droning chant with which she used to sing them to sleep, were the first things that the two children remembered. This chant was peculiar92 to Karlinahami, and no other woman of the village used it. She had learnt it from her mother. The words ran thus:
'Sleep, child, sleep against my side,
Aiyo! aiyo! the weary way you've cried;
'Aiyo! aiyo! will the trees never end?
Our women's feet are weary; O Great One, send
Night on us, that our wanderings may end.
'Hush, child, hush, thy father leads the way,
Thy mother's feet are weary, but the day
'Aiyo! aiyo! the way is rough and steep,
Aiyo! the thorns are sharp, the rivers deep,
But the night comes at last. So sleep, child, sleep.'
Until Punchi Menika and Hinnihami were three years old Silindu appeared not even to be aware of their existence. He took no notice of them in the house or compound, and never spoke95 about them. But one day he was sitting in front of his hut staring into the jungle, when Punchi Menika crawled up to him and put her hand on his knee, and looked solemnly up into his face. Silindu looked down at her, took her by her hands, and stood her up between his two knees. He stared vacantly into her eyes for some time, and then suddenly he began to speak to her in a low voice:
'Little toad96! why have you left the pond? Isn't there food there for your little belly? Rice and cocoanuts and mangoes and little cakes of kurakkan? Is the belly full, that you have left the pond for the jungle? Foolish little toad! The water is good, but the trees are evil. You have come to a bad place of dangers and devils. Yesterday, little toad, I lay under a domba-tree by the side of a track, my gun in my hand, waiting for what might pass. The devils are very angry in the jungle, for there has been no rain now for these three months. The water-holes are dry; the leaves and grass are brown; the deer are very thin; and the fawns, dropped this year, are dying of weakness and hunger and thirst. Therefore, the devils are hungry, and there is nothing more terrible than a hungry devil. Well, there I lay, flat on the ground, with my gun in my hand; and I saw on the opposite side of the track, lying under a domba-tree, a leopardess waiting for what might pass. I put down my gun, and, "Sister," I said, "is the belly empty?" For her coat was mangy, and the belly caught up below, as though with pain. "Yakko, he-devil," she answered, "three days now I have killed but one thin grey monkey, and there are two cubs97 in the cave to be fed. Yakkini, she-devil," I said, "there are two little toads98 at home to be fed. But I still have a handful of kurakkan in my hut, from which my sister can make cakes. It remains from last year's chena, and after it is eaten there will be nothing. The headman, too, is pressing for the three shillings[3] body tax. 'How,' I say to him, 'can there be money where there is not even food?' But the kurakkan will last until next poya day. Therefore, your hunger is greater than mine. The first kill is yours." So we lay still a long time, and at last I heard far away the sound of a hoof99 upon a dry stick. "Sister," I whispered, "I hear a deer coming this way. Yakko, have you no ears?" she said. "A long while now I have been listening to a herd of wild pig coming down wind. Can you not even now hear their strong breathing, and their rooting in the dry earth, and the patter of the young ones' feet on the dry leaves? Yakkini," I said, for I heard her teeth clicking in the darkness, "the ear of the hungry is in the belly: the sound of your teeth can be heard a hoo[4] cry's distance away." So we lay still again, and at last the herd of pigs came down the track. First came an old boar, very black, his tusks100 shining white in the shadows; then many sows and young boars; and here and there the little pigs running in and out among the sows. And as they passed, one of the little pigs ran out near the domba-bush, and Yakkini sprang and caught it in her teeth, and leapt with it into the branch of a palu-tree which overhung the path. There she sat, and the little pig in her mouth screamed to its mother. Then all the little pigs ran together screaming, and stood on one side, near the bush where I lay; and the great boars and the young boars and sows ran round the palu-tree, looking up at Yakkini, and making a great noise. And the old sow, who had borne the little pig in Yakkini's mouth, put her forefeet against the trunk of the tree, and looked up, and said, "Come down, Yakkini; she-devil, thief. Are you afraid of an old, tuskless sow? Come down." But the leopardess laughed, and bit the little pig in the back behind the head until it died, and she called down to the old sow, "Go your way, mother. There are two cubs at home in the cave, and they are very hungry. Every year I drop but one or two cubs in the cave, but the whole jungle swarms with your spawn101. I see eight brothers and sisters of your child there by the domba-bush. Go your way, lest I choose another for my mate. Also, I do mot like your man's teeth." The old boar and the sows were very angry, and for a long while they ran round the tree, and tore at it with their tusks, and looked up and cursed Yakkini. But Yakkini sat and watched them, and licked the blood which dripped from the little pig's back. I too lay very still under my domba-bush, for there is danger in an angry herd. At last the old boar became tired, and he gathered the little pigs together in the middle of the herd, and led them away down the track. Then Yakkini dropped to the ground, and bounded away into the jungle, carrying the little pig in her mouth. So you see, little crow, it is a bad place to which you have come. Be careful, or some other devil will drop on you out of a bush, and carry you off in his mouth.'
While Silindu had been speaking, Hinnihami had crawled and tottered102 across the compound to join her sister. At the end of his long story she was leaning against his shoulder. From that day he seemed to regard the two children differently from the rest of the world in which he lived. He was never tired of pouring out to them in a low, monotonous103 drone his thoughts, opinions, and doings. That they did not understand a word of what he said did not trouble him in the least; but when they grew old enough to understand and to speak and to question him, he began to take a new pleasure in explaining to them the world in which he lived.
It was a strange world, a world of bare and brutal104 facts, of superstition105, of grotesque106 imagination; a world of trees and the perpetual twilight107 of their shade; a world of hunger and fear and devils, where a man was helpless before the unseen and unintelligible108 powers surrounding him. He would go over to them again and again in the season of drought the reckoning of his small store of grain, and the near approach of the time when it would be exhausted109; his perpetual fear of hunger; his means and plans for obtaining just enough for existence until the next chena season. But, above all, his pleasure seemed to be to tell them of the jungle, of his wanderings in search of game, of his watchings by the water-holes at night, of the animals and devils which lived among its shadows.
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1
axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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smother
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| vt./vi.使窒息；抑制；闷死；n.浓烟；窒息 | |
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blot
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| vt.弄脏（用吸墨纸）吸干；n.污点，污渍 | |
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4
liars
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| 说谎者( liar的名词复数 ) | |
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5
crouch
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| v.蹲伏，蜷缩，低头弯腰；n.蹲伏 | |
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6
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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leopard
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| n.豹 | |
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8
herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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9
buck
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| n.雄鹿，雄兔；v.马离地跳跃 | |
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10
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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11
thorny
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| adj.多刺的，棘手的 | |
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12
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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13
gnawed
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| 咬( gnaw的过去式和过去分词 )； （长时间） 折磨某人； （使）苦恼； （长时间）危害某事物 | |
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trampling
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| 踩( trample的现在分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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15
tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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16
jut
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| v.突出；n.突出，突出物 | |
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17
scorches
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| 烧焦，烤焦( scorch的第三人称单数 )； 使（植物）枯萎，把…晒枯； 高速行驶 | |
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18
scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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19
stunted
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| adj.矮小的；发育迟缓的 | |
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scabrous
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| adj.有疤的，粗糙的 | |
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lichen
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| n.地衣, 青苔 | |
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slabs
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| n.厚板，平板，厚片( slab的名词复数 )；厚胶片 | |
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spines
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| n.脊柱( spine的名词复数 )；脊椎；（动植物的）刺；书脊 | |
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tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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jointed
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| 有接缝的 | |
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oozes
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的第三人称单数 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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milky
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| adj.牛奶的，多奶的；乳白色的 | |
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viscous
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| adj.粘滞的，粘性的 | |
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sterile
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| adj.不毛的，不孕的，无菌的，枯燥的，贫瘠的 | |
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wither
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| vt.使凋谢，使衰退，(用眼神气势等)使畏缩；vi.枯萎，衰退，消亡 | |
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31
withering
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| 使人畏缩的，使人害羞的，使人难堪的 | |
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32
twigs
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| 细枝，嫩枝( twig的名词复数 ) | |
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33
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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34
shrubs
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| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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35
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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36
trumpeting
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| 大声说出或宣告（trumpet的现在分词形式） | |
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squealing
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| v.长声尖叫，用长而尖锐的声音说( squeal的现在分词 ) | |
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spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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39
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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40
glide
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| n./v.溜，滑行；(时间)消逝 | |
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41
goaded
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| v.刺激( goad的过去式和过去分词 )；激励；（用尖棒）驱赶；驱使（或怂恿、刺激）某人 | |
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42
twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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43
twitch
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| v.急拉，抽动，痉挛，抽搐；n.扯，阵痛，痉挛 | |
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44
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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45
muzzles
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| 枪口( muzzle的名词复数 )； （防止动物咬人的）口套； （四足动物的）鼻口部； （狗）等凸出的鼻子和口 | |
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scatters
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| v.（使）散开， （使）分散，驱散( scatter的第三人称单数 )；撒 | |
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pricked
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| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
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fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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50
crumbles
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| 酥皮水果甜点( crumble的名词复数 ) | |
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51
trickles
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| n.细流( trickle的名词复数 )；稀稀疏疏缓慢来往的东西v.滴( trickle的第三人称单数 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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52
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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53
tracts
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| 大片土地( tract的名词复数 )； 地带； （体内的）道； （尤指宣扬宗教、伦理或政治的）短文 | |
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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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herds
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| 兽群( herd的名词复数 )； 牧群； 人群； 群众 | |
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parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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fawns
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| n.（未满一岁的）幼鹿( fawn的名词复数 )；浅黄褐色；乞怜者；奉承者v.（尤指狗等）跳过来往人身上蹭以示亲热( fawn的第三人称单数 )；巴结；讨好 | |
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58
thatch
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| vt.用茅草覆盖…的顶部；n.茅草(屋) | |
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mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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61
cultivation
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| n.耕作，培养，栽培（法），养成 | |
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62
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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63
millet
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| n.小米，谷子 | |
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64
maize
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| n.玉米 | |
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65
pumpkins
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| n.南瓜( pumpkin的名词复数 )；南瓜的果肉，南瓜囊 | |
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belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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foulest
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| adj.恶劣的( foul的最高级 )；邪恶的；难闻的；下流的 | |
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68
filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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69
ulcers
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| n.溃疡( ulcer的名词复数 )；腐烂物；道德败坏；腐败 | |
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swarms
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| 蜂群，一大群( swarm的名词复数 ) | |
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71
bellies
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| n.肚子( belly的名词复数 )；腹部；（物体的）圆形或凸起部份；腹部…形的 | |
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72
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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73
puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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74
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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76
buffalo
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| n.(北美)野牛；(亚洲)水牛 | |
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77
inert
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| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
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78
whine
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| v.哀号，号哭；n.哀鸣 | |
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79
squatted
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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81
lair
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| n.野兽的巢穴；躲藏处 | |
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82
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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83
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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84
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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85
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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86
jeer
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| vi.嘲弄，揶揄；vt.奚落；n.嘲笑，讥评 | |
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87
crumbled
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| （把…）弄碎， （使）碎成细屑( crumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 衰落； 坍塌； 损坏 | |
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88
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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89
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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90
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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91
Buddha
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| n.佛；佛像；佛陀 | |
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92
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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93
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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94
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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95
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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96
toad
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| n.蟾蜍，癞蛤蟆 | |
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97
cubs
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| n.幼小的兽，不懂规矩的年轻人( cub的名词复数 ) | |
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98
toads
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| n.蟾蜍，癞蛤蟆( toad的名词复数 ) | |
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99
hoof
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| n.(马，牛等的)蹄 | |
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100
tusks
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| n.（象等动物的）长牙( tusk的名词复数 )；獠牙；尖形物；尖头 | |
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101
spawn
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| n.卵，产物，后代，结果；vt.产卵，种菌丝于，产生，造成；vi.产卵，大量生产 | |
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102
tottered
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| v.走得或动得不稳( totter的过去式和过去分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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103
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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104
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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105
superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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106
grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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107
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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108
unintelligible
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| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
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109
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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