It was Ma who laid down rules for burying the dead.
Lucy’s first dead thing was a snake. Five and full of destruction, she stomped2 puddles3 just to see the world flood. She leapt, landed. When the waves quit their crashing she stood in a ditch emptied of water. Coiled at its bottom, a drowned black snake.
The ground steamed pungent4 wet. The buds on the trees were splitting, showing their paler insides. Lucy ran home with scales between her palms, aware that the world unfurled its hidden side.
Ma smiled to see her. Kept smiling as Lucy opened her hands.
Later, too late, Lucy would think on how another mother might have screamed, scolded, lied. How Ba, if Ba were there, might have said the snake was sleeping, and spun5 a tale to chase the hush6 of death right out the window.
Ma only hefted her pan of pork and tied her apron7 tighter. Said, Lucy girl, burial zhi shi another recipe.
Lucy prepared the snake alongside the meat.
First rule, silver. To weigh down the spirit, Ma said as she peeled a caul of fat from the pork. She sent Lucy to her trunk. Beneath the heavy lid and its peculiar8 smell, between layers of fabric9 and dried herbs, Lucy found a silver thimble just large enough to fit over the snake’s head.
Second, running water. To purify the spirit, Ma said as she washed the meat in a bucket. Her long fingers picked maggots free. Beside her, Lucy submerged the snake’s body.
Third, a home. The most important rule of all, Ma said as her knife hacked10 through gristle. Silver and water could seal a spirit for a time, keep it from tarnish11. But it was home that kept the spirit safe-settled. Home that kept it from wandering back, restless, returning time and again like some migrant bird. Lucy?Ma asked, knife paused. You know where?
Lucy’s face warmed, as if Ma quizzed her on sums she hadn’t studied. Home, Ma said again, and Lucy said it back, chewing her lip. Finally Ma cupped Lucy’s face with a hand warm and slick and redolent of flesh.
Fang12 xin, Ma said. Told Lucy to loosen her heart. It’s not hard. A snake belongs in its burrow13. You see?Ma told Lucy to leave the burying. Told her to run off and play.
They’re running, like Ma told them, but this time it doesn’t feel like play.
—
All those years and still Lucy can’t grasp the thing called home. For all that Ma praised her smarts, she’s a dunce in what matters. Lacking answers, she can only spell. H, as the yellow grasses rustle14. O, as she grinds stems underfoot. M, as she cuts her toe and watches a line of blood rise like rebuke15. E, as she hurries up the next hill to catch Sam and Nellie disappearing down its slope.
What’s home mean when Ba made them live a life so restless? He aimed to find his fortune in one fell swoop17, and all his life pushed the family like a storm wind at their backs. Always toward the newer. The wilder. The promise of sudden wealth and shine. For years it was gold he pursued, rumors18 of unclaimed land and untapped veins19. Always they arrived to find the same ruined hills, dug up, the same streams choked with rubble20. Prospecting21 as much a game of luck as the gambling22 dens23 Ba haunted from time to time—and luck was never with him. Even when Ma put her foot down and insisted they make an honest living through coal, little changed. From coal mine to coal mine their wagon24 crossed the hills like a finger scraping the barrel’s last taste of sugar. Each new mine drew men with the promise of high wages, but those wages fell as more men arrived. So the family chased the next mine, and the next. Their savings25 swelled26 and shrank in seasons as reliable as dry and wet, hot and cold. What’s home mean when they moved so often into shacks28 and tents that stank29 of other people’s sweat? How can Lucy find a home to bury a man she couldn’t solve.
It’s Sam, youngest but best-loved, who leads the way. Inland Sam treks30, East through the hills. They start out on the wagon trail that once brought the four of them to town, its dirt tamped31 flat by miners and prospectors32 and Indians come before them—and, to hear Ba tell it, the long-dead buffalo33 before that. But soon Sam veers34 off, pointing those cowboy boots through untrammeled grass and coyote brush, through thistle and stinging cane35.
A new, fainter track takes shape underfoot. Narrow and rough, hidden from pursuers. Ba claimed knowledge of such trails from the Indians he traded with outside town; Lucy figured those for empty boasts. Ba didn’t show the trails the way he showed the scar on his bad leg that he swore came from a tiger.
At least, he didn’t show the trails to Lucy.
They walk near to an empty arroyo36. Lucy keeps her head down, hoping to see it fill before their canteens run dry. In this way she almost misses the first buffalo bones.
The skeleton rises from the earth like a great white island. Around it the hush deepens—maybe it’s that the pinned-down grass has gone silent. Sam’s breath hitches37, close to a sob38.
They’ve seen buffalo bone in pieces along the wagon trail, but never whole. Years of travelers have brandished39 mallets and knives, boredom40 and need, taking what was easy to find for cook fires or tent poles or idle carving41. This skeleton is untouched. The eye sockets42 glimmer—a trick of shadow. Sam could walk through the intact rib43 cage without ducking.
Lucy pictures the bones clothed in fur and flesh, the animal standing44. Ba claimed these giants once ran thick through the hills, and the mountains, and the plains beyond. Three times the height of any man yet gentle beyond reckoningA regular river of buffalo, Ba said. Lucy lets that ancient image flood her.
They grow accustomed to bones, but see few living creatures apart from the trunk’s attendant flies. Once, in the distance, what looks to be an Indian woman, her arm beckoning45. Sam stands at quivering attention, the woman’s hand lifts—and then two children run to her side. The small tribe moves away, complete as it is. The arroyo remains46 dry. Lucy and Sam sip47 sparingly from canteens, rest for a beat at the shady lee side of each hill. Always there’s a next hill, and a next. Always, the sun. Their stolen provisions run out. Then it’s horse oats for breakfast and dinner. They suck pebbles48 for moisture, chew dry stems till they soften49.
And Lucy ignores most of all the hunger for answers.
Sam struck out saying only that Ba liked space. Wild spaces. But how wild? And how far? Lucy doesn’t dare ask. The gun hangs heavy at Sam’s hip50, lending Sam’s gait a swagger not unlike Ba’s. Ever since Ma died, Sam’s quit bonnets51 and long hair, quit dresses. Bareheaded, Sam dried out in the sun till Sam seemed a piece of cured wood: in danger of catching52 at the merest spark. Out here, there’s nothing to quell53 Sam’s burning.
Ba alone could change that. Where’s my girl?Ba said, looking round the shack27 at the end of the day. Sam hid quiet as Ba searched, playing a game that was theirs alone. Finally Ba roared, Where’s my boy?Sam leapt up. Here I am.Ba tickled54 Sam till tears sprang to Sam’s eyes. Apart from that, Sam quit crying.
—
Five days on, the arroyo trickles55. Water. Silver. Lucy looks round: nothing but the press of hills. Surely this is wild enough to bury Ba.
“Here?” Lucy asks.
“Ain’t right,” Sam says.
“Here?” Lucy asks again some miles later.
“Here?”
“Here?”
“Here?”
The grass shushes her. The hills roll up and around. On the Eastern horizon the inland mountains are a smudge of blue. H, she thinks as they walk. O. M. E.Her head aches with heat and hunger, the lesson no clearer. They spend a week drifting like the spirits Ma warned against, and then the finger drops.
—
It appears in the grass, looking like an overgrown brown locust56. Sam’s wandered off for a piss—any excuse to leave the flies and stench. Lucy bends to examine the insect. It doesn’t move.
A dry crook57, jointed58 twice. Ba’s middle finger.
Lucy starts to yell for Sam. Then a thought strikes her like a blow across the cheek: if the finger’s lost, why, the hand’s in no position to be dispensing59 slaps. She takes a breath and throws the trunk open.
Nellie steps nervous as Ba’s arm springs out, accusing. Lucy gags, holds steady. The hand has not one but two missing fingers, two exposed knucklebones staring out like blind eyes.
Lucy walks farther and farther out, searching the grass, till Nellie and the trunk are out of sight. Then she looks up.
Ba taught this trick when Lucy was three or four. Playing, she’d lost sight of the wagon. The enormous lid of sky pinned her down. The grass’s ceaseless billow. She wasn’t like Sam, bold from birth, always wandering. She cried. When Ba found her hours later, he shook her. Then he told her to look up.
Stand long enough under open sky in these parts, and a curious thing happens. At first the clouds meander60, aimless. Then they start to turn, swirling61 toward you at their center. Stand long enough and it isn’t the hills that shrink—it’s you that grows. Like you could step over and reach the distant blue mountains, if you so chose. Like you were a giant and all this your land.
You get lost again, you remember you belong to this place as much as anybody,Ba said. Don’t be afeared of it. Ting wo?
Lucy chooses to quit searching. The finger might’ve dropped miles back, indistinguishable by now from the bones of hare and tiger and jackal. The thought emboldens62 her. When she returns to the trunk, she grabs Ba’s hand.
In life Ba’s hand was huge and ornery and she’d no more touch it than she would a rattler. In death his hand is shriveled, wet. Hardly resists. It sticks, soft, as she pushes it back inside. A series of pops like dry twigs65 burning. When Lucy pulls away, Ba’s hand and its missing fingers are hidden.
She washes in the stream and considers the finger still in her pocket. Look at it this way, and it again resembles an insect. A talon66. A twig64. Just to see, she drops it into the mud. A curl of dog shit.
The grass sways to announce Sam’s return, and Lucy sweeps her bare foot over the finger.
Sam crosses the stream humming, one hand fastening the drawstring pants. A bit of gray rock peeps out the top. The rest of the rock is a long shape under fabric.
Sam stops.
“I was just . . .” Lucy says. “I was just thirsty. Nellie’s back there. I was just . . .”
Lucy stares at Sam’s pants, Sam at Lucy’s stuck-out foot. Their secrets so poorly hidden. For a moment it seems one of them will ask, and behind the question a dozen answers might tumble.
Then Sam hurries on past. Great rips occupy the air: Sam yanking grass to clear space for the fire. Lucy swivels to help, the finger sinking underfoot. A dry land, this one, hungry for richness. She bears down harder, kicks dirt over. She gives the mound67 one firm slap with her foot. Ma warned of haunting, but what can one finger do? It’s got no hand, and no arm to launch it, no shoulder to swing it, no body to put force behind the blow. The proper way, Ba said as Lucy watched across the room, Ba teaching Sam how to swing.
—
That night Lucy stirs oats one-handed, the hand that touched Ba at her side. The sticky feeling clings. And like one half-heard tune16 that recalls another, she remembers Ma’s fingers. How they clutched her the night Ma died.
Sam is talking.
Night, only night, draws words from Sam. When lengthening68 shadows have drenched69 the grass blue, then black, Sam tells tales. Tonight it’s about a man spotted70 on the horizon, mounted on buffaloback. The first night Sam mentioned pursuers, Lucy didn’t sleep a wink71. But no tigers ever came leaping, no jackals on leashes72, no posse of sheriff’s men. These stories are only a comfort to Sam, like another child’s favorite blanket. Most nights Lucy is grateful to hear Sam’s voice, even if it adopts Ba’s bluster73. Tonight the comparison doesn’t soothe74.
“That’s ridiculous,” Lucy interrupts. “There’s no historical evidence.” Teacher talk, Ba called this, sneering75. Lucy likes how the long words distract from her dirty hand. “The books say buffalo are extinct in these parts.”
“Ba said what a man knows to be true is different from what he reads.”
Most nights Lucy would retreat. Tonight she says, “Well, you’re not a man.”
Sam in silhouette76 cracks the knuckles77 of one hand. Lucy bites her lip.
“I mean you’re not grown yet. We’re kids, aren’t we? We need a house and food. And first we need to bury. It’s already been two weeks since he—”
Sam jumps up to stomp1 a spark that leapt from the fire. It’s caught a clump78 of grass. They should have made their firebreak bigger, should have worked longer. Should have, should have. Each small act teeters close to disaster these days—the wink of a star like a search party’s lantern, the clop of Nellie’s hoof79 like a gun being cocked—and increasingly Lucy lacks the energy to care. She’s scooped80 so hollow the wind is liable to carry her away. Let the hills burn, she thinks as Sam stomps81 far longer and harder than the spark called for. Sam always finds some distraction82 when Lucy comes close to speaking the word.
Died, Lucy says to herself. Dead, death, died.She lays the words down, as she imagines Ma’s trunk laid down in the earth. Soil falling over the latches83 and the wood. Handfuls, then shovelfuls, pounded neat. They’ve got silver. They’ve got water. Why does Sam keep looking?
“What makes a home a home?” Lucy asks, and for the first time in days, Sam looks her full in the face, on account of the three-legged dog.
Lucy first saw the dog across the lake born of the storm-swollen creek84. This was the day after Ma died, and across steely water the dog flashed white. Lucy mistook it for a ghost till it ran—no ghost had that hobble. The stump85 of the dog’s back leg poked86 out, red and chewed-looking. It limped like Ba. Lucy didn’t give chase. She was looking for signs of where Ba had buried Ma.
The dog was there again the next day, and again Lucy found no grave. It was there the next day, its maimed body cutting a perfect arc through the air. The dog was there, and the dog was there, and the dog was there as Lucy searched in vain for the grave Ba refused to speak of. The dog learned to walk, run, chase blown leaves, while at home Ba got clumsier. He stubbed his toe, misjudged steps, fell against the bench where Lucy sat. Girl, bench, man, clattered87 together. Lucy close enough, for the first time since Ma died, to feel Ba’s whiskey breath. They stumbled trying to stand. Ba yanked her straight, and kept yanking till she was pressed against the wall, his fist at her stomach.
Day by day Lucy spent more time studying the dog. Its grace among the broken things. On the day she quit searching, the day the lake dried up and the valley lay exposed with no sign of the grave, the dog approached. Close-up its eyes were brown and sorrowful. Close-up it was a she.
Lucy fed the dog in secret behind the house. Scraps88 of what Ba didn’t eat, he who mostly drank. She didn’t fear discovery; Ba’s world had narrowed to the inside of a bottle, and Sam’s world to the space around him.
Then came the day that drink ran dry. Ba went to work in the morning and surprised Lucy on his return, flour and pork in one arm, whiskey in the other. Sam tagged behind; Sam’s hands, like Ba’s, black with coal dust. Lucy’s clean fingers held only scraps of dinner, and the dog’s snout.
Proper reward, Ba said as he hefted the bottle, for a hard day’s work. He swung between the dog’s eyes.
As the dog toppled, Lucy held still. She’d learned true hurt from fakery. Sure enough the dog leapt up when Ba looked away, a piece of pork in its mouth.
Lucy couldn’t help smiling, despite Sam’s warning shake. Ba saw. Something was planted that day, in the remnants of Ma’s garden—an ache, a sour crop.
That was the start of a new balance. For days at a stretch Ba stayed sober enough to work the coal mines. A few swigs at breakfast held his hands steady on a pick. On paydays he brought home his reward, and a jangly rhythm swung his fists round and round. Lucy learned the steps of her part: quiet, nimble, spinning away. If she was quick enough, Ba’s fists hardly clipped her. Sam learned the steps that cut between Ba and Lucy when the dance grew too violent.
Lucy asked, once, with Ba fallen from a missed swing, if she should help in the mines too. He laughed in her face. A gap showed in his teeth, and that sight startled her worse than any blow. When had he lost it? When had a hole opened up in the man she knew, without her seeing it happen? Mining is a man’s work, he spat89 out. Sam helped him rise, Sam who dressed like a boy and worked like one and was paid like one too. Sam whose hands grew calloused90 and nicked, strong enough to support Ba’s body.
Their family, too, learned to move on three legs. And then the dog returned.
One night Ba called them out behind the house. There Lucy and Sam found him petting the dog’s hindquarters, which stuck out from a barrel of lard. Good leg, stump leg, and flag of tail between. Ba stroked that tail, then reared back and slammed his boot into the good leg.
“What makes a dog a dog?” Ba asked. This time when the dog tried to run, two bad legs dragged behind two good. It could only crawl. Ba crouched91 and laid a finger on Lucy’s knee. “It’s a test. You’re fond of tests, smart girl like you.”
He twisted Lucy’s skin. Sam moved closer so that Ba couldn’t pull his arm back all the way. The bark, Lucy answered. The bite. The loyalty92. Pinches grew down her calf93 as she spoke94.
“I’ll tell you,” Ba finally said. Not because Lucy trembled, but because his own bad leg did. “A dog’s a cowardly creature. What makes a dog a dog is it can run. That’s no dog. Ting wo.”
“I’m not a dog. I promise, Ba, I wouldn’t run.”
“You know why your ma’s gone?”
Lucy jolted95. Even Sam cried out. But Ba would take that answer to his death. He shook his head. Spoke over Lucy’s shoulder, as if the sight of her disgusted him.
“Family comes first. You bring a thief among us, Lucy girl, and you betray us. You’re as good as a thief yourself.”
Funny thing was, Ba’s lesson did bring a part of their family closer. What makes a dog a dog?Sam and Lucy came to swap96 the words as a joke, a riddle97. By incantation stripping it of its origins: the cold night, the broken creature. When Ba staggered home and fell asleep in the water trough, when he searched for a boot he’d flung out the window, they whispered, What makes a bed a bed? What makes a boot a boot?These words stretched between them as other distances grew: between their heights, between the shack where Lucy sat reading and the wide world of open hills and hunting sites that Sam explored at Ba’s side.
Tonight, Sam looks at Lucy across the campfire. Those feet quiet at last from their stomping98.
For a moment, Lucy hopes.
But the old spell of the words is broken. Sam walks alone into the grass.
Fool that she was, Lucy thought Ba’s death would return Sam to her. Thought that the jokes Sam shared with Ba, the games and confidences, would fill the emptiness inside Lucy. Lucy thought they might even speak of Ma.
Sam doesn’t return that night, though Lucy waits up for hours. When at last she smothers99 the fire, she piles the soil higher than needed. Both hands are caked and filthy100 by the end. She should have known. A dog can’t stand on two legs, and neither can a family.
—
Piece by piece, step by step, they part with bits of themselves. Hunger reshapes them. Two weeks on and Sam’s cheekbones emerge like rocky outcrops. Three weeks and Sam shoots up taller, thinner. Four weeks and Sam begins to range the hills alone after they make camp, returning with a shot rabbit or squirrel. Pistol swinging at that growing hip.
Lucy does her own hunting while Sam is gone. Hers more like panning. She shakes the trunk and collects a toe, a piece of scalp, a tooth, another finger, each part buried with a slap on the mound. That slap ought to feel enough like home to Ba. And if it doesn’t? What makes a haint a haint? She pictures a spirit toe floating behind, trailing its cloud of flies. Each small burial drops a fistful of soil into her hollow, filling her for a little while.
Then comes a string of days when nothing drops. Silent days, hardly a word spoken. Lucy shakes the trunk hard enough to rattle63. She’s sweating by the time a piece falls loose. It’s as long as a finger but thicker. Softer, with wrinkled skin. No bone that she can see. It gives under her toes, like a dried plum.
She understands.
Dirt-speckled and shrunken, it bears little resemblance to what she saw by accident the night Ba buried Ma. He came up from the lake dripping, shedding wet clothes. Soon he stood in underpants. As he reached for his bottle, Lucy caught a swing of flesh through the thin cloth. Darkly purple, a strange and heavy fruit.
What makes a man a man? The parts that Ba and Sam hold so dear didn’t look like much even then. This time, Lucy slaps the burial mound twice.
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收听单词发音
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1
stomp
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| v.跺（脚），重踩，重踏 | |
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stomped
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| v.跺脚，践踏，重踏( stomp的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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puddles
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| n.水坑， （尤指道路上的）雨水坑( puddle的名词复数 ) | |
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pungent
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| adj.（气味、味道）刺激性的，辛辣的；尖锐的 | |
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spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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fabric
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| n.织物，织品，布；构造，结构，组织 | |
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hacked
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| 生气 | |
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tarnish
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| n.晦暗，污点；vt.使失去光泽；玷污 | |
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fang
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| n.尖牙，犬牙 | |
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burrow
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| vt.挖掘(洞穴)；钻进；vi.挖洞；翻寻；n.地洞 | |
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rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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rebuke
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| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
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tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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swoop
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| n.俯冲，攫取；v.抓取，突然袭击 | |
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rumors
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| n.传闻( rumor的名词复数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷v.传闻( rumor的第三人称单数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷 | |
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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rubble
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| n.（一堆）碎石，瓦砾 | |
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prospecting
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| n.探矿 | |
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gambling
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| n.赌博；投机 | |
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dens
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| n.牙齿，齿状部分；兽窝( den的名词复数 )；窝点；休息室；书斋 | |
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wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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savings
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| n.存款，储蓄 | |
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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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shack
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| adj.简陋的小屋，窝棚 | |
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shacks
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| n.窝棚，简陋的小屋( shack的名词复数 ) | |
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stank
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| n. (英)坝，堰，池塘 动词stink的过去式 | |
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treks
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| n.远距离行走 ( trek的名词复数 )；长途跋涉，艰难的旅程（尤指在山区）v.艰苦跋涉，徒步旅行( trek的第三人称单数 )；（尤指在山中）远足，徒步旅行，游山玩水 | |
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tamped
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| v.捣固( tamp的过去式和过去分词 )；填充；（用炮泥）封炮眼口；夯实 | |
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prospectors
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| n.勘探者，探矿者( prospector的名词复数 ) | |
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buffalo
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| n.(北美)野牛；(亚洲)水牛 | |
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veers
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| v.（尤指交通工具）改变方向或路线( veer的第三人称单数 )；（指谈话内容、人的行为或观点）突然改变；（指风） （在北半球按顺时针方向、在南半球按逆时针方向）逐渐转向；风向顺时针转 | |
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cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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arroyo
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| n.干涸的河床，小河 | |
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hitches
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| 暂时的困难或问题( hitch的名词复数 )； 意外障碍； 急拉； 绳套 | |
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sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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39
brandished
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| v.挥舞( brandish的过去式和过去分词 )；炫耀 | |
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40
boredom
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| n.厌烦，厌倦，乏味，无聊 | |
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41
carving
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| n.雕刻品，雕花 | |
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42
sockets
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| n.套接字，使应用程序能够读写与收发通讯协定(protocol)与资料的程序( Socket的名词复数 )；孔( socket的名词复数 )；（电器上的）插口；托座；凹穴 | |
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43
rib
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| n.肋骨，肋状物 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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beckoning
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| adj.引诱人的，令人心动的v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的现在分词 ) | |
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46
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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47
sip
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| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
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48
pebbles
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| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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49
soften
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| v.(使)变柔软；(使)变柔和 | |
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50
hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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51
bonnets
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| n.童帽( bonnet的名词复数 )；（烟囱等的）覆盖物；（苏格兰男子的）无边呢帽；（女子戴的）任何一种帽子 | |
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52
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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quell
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| v.压制，平息，减轻 | |
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54
tickled
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| （使）发痒( tickle的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）愉快，逗乐 | |
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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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56
locust
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| n.蝗虫；洋槐，刺槐 | |
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57
crook
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| v.使弯曲；n.小偷，骗子，贼；弯曲(处) | |
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jointed
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| 有接缝的 | |
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dispensing
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| v.分配( dispense的现在分词 )；施与；配（药） | |
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meander
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| n.河流的曲折，漫步，迂回旅行；v.缓慢而弯曲地流动，漫谈 | |
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61
swirling
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的现在分词 ) | |
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62
emboldens
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| v.鼓励，使有胆量( embolden的第三人称单数 ) | |
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rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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64
twig
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| n.小树枝，嫩枝；v.理解 | |
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twigs
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| 细枝，嫩枝( twig的名词复数 ) | |
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talon
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| n.爪；（如爪般的）手指；爪状物 | |
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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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68
lengthening
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的现在分词 )； 加长 | |
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drenched
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| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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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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wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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leashes
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| n.拴猎狗的皮带( leash的名词复数 ) | |
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bluster
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| v.猛刮；怒冲冲的说；n.吓唬，怒号；狂风声 | |
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soothe
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| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
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sneering
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| 嘲笑的，轻蔑的 | |
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76
silhouette
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| n.黑色半身侧面影，影子，轮廓；v.描绘成侧面影，照出影子来，仅仅显出轮廓 | |
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knuckles
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| n.（指人）指关节( knuckle的名词复数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝v.（指人）指关节( knuckle的第三人称单数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝 | |
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78
clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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hoof
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| n.(马，牛等的)蹄 | |
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scooped
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| v.抢先报道( scoop的过去式和过去分词 )；（敏捷地）抱起；抢先获得；用铲[勺]等挖（洞等） | |
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81
stomps
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| v.跺脚，践踏，重踏( stomp的第三人称单数 ) | |
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82
distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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83
latches
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| n.（门窗的）门闩( latch的名词复数 )；碰锁v.理解( latch的第三人称单数 )；纠缠；用碰锁锁上（门等）；附着（在某物上） | |
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84
creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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85
stump
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| n.残株，烟蒂，讲演台；v.砍断，蹒跚而走 | |
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86
poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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87
clattered
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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88
scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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89
spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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90
calloused
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| adj.粗糙的，粗硬的，起老茧的v.（使）硬结，（使）起茧( callous的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）冷酷无情 | |
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91
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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92
loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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93
calf
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| n.小牛，犊，幼仔，小牛皮 | |
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94
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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95
jolted
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| （使）摇动， （使）震惊( jolt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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96
swap
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| n.交换；vt.交换，用...作交易 | |
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97
riddle
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| n.谜，谜语，粗筛；vt.解谜，给…出谜，筛，检查，鉴定，非难，充满于；vi.出谜 | |
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98
stomping
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| v.跺脚，践踏，重踏( stomp的现在分词 ) | |
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99
smothers
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的第三人称单数 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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