But the air was sharp and cold and full of fear. Even Summer was afraid. The fur on his neck was bristling3. Shadows stretched against the hillside, black and hungry. All the trees were bowed and twisted by the weight of ice they carried. Some hardly looked like trees at all. Buried from root to crown in frozen snow, they huddled4 on the hill like giants, monstrous5 and misshapen creatures hunched6 against the icy wind. “They are here.”
The ranger7 drew his longsword.
“Where?” Meera’s voice was hushed.
“Close. I don’t know. Somewhere.”
The raven shrieked8 again. “Hodor,” whispered Hodor. He had his hands tucked up beneath his armpits. Icicles hung from the brown briar of his beard, and his mustache was a lump of frozen snot, glittering redly in the light of sunset.
“Those wolves are close as well,” Bran warned them. “The ones that have been following us. Summer can smell them whenever we’re downwind.”
“Wolves are the least of our woes,” said Coldhands. “We have to climb. It will be dark soon. You would do well to be inside before night comes. Your warmth will draw them.” He glanced to the west, where the light of the setting sun could be seen dimly through the trees, like the glow of a distant fire.
“Is this the only way in?” asked Meera.
“The back door is three leagues north, down a sinkhole.”
That was all he had to say. Not even Hodor could climb down into a sinkhole with Bran heavy on his back, and Jojen could no more walk three leagues than run a thousand.
Meera eyed the hill above. “The way looks clear.”
“Looks,” the ranger muttered darkly. “Can you feel the cold? There’s something here. Where are they?”
“Inside the cave?” suggested Meera.
“The cave is warded9. They cannot pass.” The ranger used his sword to point. “You can see the entrance there. Halfway10 up, between the weirwoods, that cleft11 in the rock.”
“I see it,” said Bran. Ravens12 were flying in and out.
Hodor shifted his weight. “Hodor.”
“A fold in the rock, that’s all I see,” said Meera.
“There’s a passage there. Steep and twisty at first, a runnel through the rock. If you can reach it, you’ll be safe.”
“What about you?”
“The cave is warded.”
Meera studied the cleft in the hillside. “It can’t be more than a thousand yards from here to there.”
No, thought Bran, but all those yards are upward. The hill was steep and thickly wooded. The snow had stopped three days ago, but none of it had melted. Beneath the trees, the ground was blanketed in white, still pristine13 and unbroken. “No one’s here,” said Bran, bravely. “Look at the snow. There are no footprints.”
“The white walkers go lightly on the snow,” the ranger said. “You’ll find no prints to mark their passage.” A raven descended14 from above to settle on his shoulder. Only a dozen of the big black birds remained with them. The rest had vanished along the way; every dawn when they arose, there had been fewer of them. “Come,” the bird squawked. “Come, come.”
The three-eyed crow, thought Bran. The greenseer. “It’s not so far,” he said. “A little climb, and we’ll be safe. Maybe we can have a fire.” All of them were cold and wet and hungry, except the ranger, and Jojen Reed was too weak to walk unaided.
“You go.” Meera Reed bent15 down beside her brother. He was settled in the bole of an oak, eyes closed, shivering violently. What little of his face could be seen beneath his hood16 and scarf was as colorless as the surrounding snow, but breath still puffed17 faintly from his nostrils18 whenever he exhaled19. Meera had been carrying him all day. Food and fire will set him right again, Bran tried to tell himself, though he wasn’t sure it would. “I can’t fight and carry Jojen both, the climb’s too steep,” Meera was saying. “Hodor, you take Bran up to that cave.”
“Hodor.” Hodor clapped his hands together.
“Jojen just needs to eat,” Bran said, miserably20. It had been twelve days since the elk21 had collapsed22 for the third and final time, since Coldhands had knelt beside it in the snowbank and murmured a blessing23 in some strange tongue as he slit24 its throat. Bran wept like a little girl when the bright blood came rushing out. He had never felt more like a cripple than he did then, watching helplessly as Meera Reed and Coldhands butchered the brave beast who had carried them so far. He told himself he would not eat, that it was better to go hungry than to feast upon a friend, but in the end he’d eaten twice, once in his own skin and once in Summer’s. As gaunt and starved as the elk had been, the steaks the ranger carved from him had sustained them for seven days, until they finished the last of them huddled over a fire in the ruins of an old hillfort.
“He needs to eat,” Meera agreed, smoothing her brother’s brow. “We all do, but there’s no food here. Go.”
Bran blinked back a tear and felt it freeze upon his cheek. Coldhands took Hodor by the arm. “The light is fading. If they’re not here now, they will be soon. Come.”
Wordless for once, Hodor slapped the snow off his legs, and plowed25 upward through the snowdrifts with Bran upon his back. Coldhands stalked beside them, his blade in a black hand. Summer came after. In some places the snow was higher than he was, and the big direwolf had to stop and shake it off after plunging26 through the thin crust. As they climbed, Bran turned awkwardly in his basket to watch as Meera slid an arm beneath her brother to lift him to his feet. He’s too heavy for her. She’s half-starved, she’s not as strong as she was. She clutched her frog spear in her other hand, jabbing the tines into the snow for a little more support. Meera had just begun to struggle up the hill, half-dragging and half-carrying her little brother, when Hodor passed between two trees, and Bran lost sight of them.
The hill grew steeper. Drifts of snow cracked under Hodor’s boots. Once a rock moved beneath his foot and he slid backwards27, and almost went tumbling back down the hill. The ranger caught him by the arm and saved him. “Hodor,” said Hodor. Every gust28 of wind filled the air with fine white powder that shone like glass in the last light of day. Ravens flapped around them. One flew ahead and vanished inside the cave. Only eighty yards now, Bran thought, that’s not far at all.
Summer stopped suddenly, at the bottom of a steep stretch of unbroken white snow. The direwolf turned his head, sniffed29 the air, then snarled30. Fur bristling, he began to back away.
“Hodor, stop,” said Bran. “Hodor. Wait.” Something was wrong. Summer smelled it, and so did he. Something bad. Something close. “Hodor, no, go back.”
Coldhands was still climbing, and Hodor wanted to keep up. “Hodor, hodor, hodor,” he grumbled31 loudly, to drown out Bran’s complaints. His breathing had grown labored32. Pale mist filled the air. He took a step, then another. The snow was almost waist deep and the slope was very steep. Hodor was leaning forward, grasping at rocks and trees with his hands as he climbed. Another step. Another. The snow Hodor disturbed slid downhill, starting a small avalanche33 behind them.
Sixty yards. Bran craned himself sideways to better see the cave. Then he saw something else. “A fire!” In the little cleft between the weirwood trees was a flickering34 glow, a ruddy light calling through the gathering35 gloom. “Look, someone—”
Hodor screamed. He twisted, stumbled, fell.
Bran felt the world slide sideways as the big stableboy spun36 violently around. A jarring impact drove the breath from him. His mouth was full of blood and Hodor was thrashing and rolling, crushing the crippled boy beneath him.
Something has hold of his leg. For half a heartbeat Bran thought maybe a root had gotten tangled38 round his ankle … until the root moved. A hand, he saw, as the rest of the wight came bursting from beneath the snow.
Hodor kicked at it, slamming a snow-covered heel full into the thing’s face, but the dead man did not even seem to feel it. Then the two of them were grappling, punching and clawing at each other, sliding down the hill. Snow filled Bran’s mouth and nose as they rolled over, but in a half a heartbeat he was rolling up again. Something slammed against his head, a rock or a chunk39 of ice or a dead man’s fist, he could not tell, and he found himself out of his basket, sprawled40 across the hillside, spitting snow, his gloved hand full of hair that he’d torn from Hodor’s head.
All around him, wights were rising from beneath the snow.
Two, three, four. Bran lost count. They surged up violently amidst sudden clouds of snow. Some wore black cloaks, some ragged41 skins, some nothing. All of them had pale flesh and black hands. Their eyes glowed like pale blue stars.
Three of them descended on the ranger. Bran saw Coldhands slash42 one across the face. The thing kept right on coming, driving him back into the arms of another. Two more were going after Hodor, lumbering43 clumsily down the slope. Meera was going to climb right into this, Bran realized, with a sick sense of helpless terror. He smashed the snow and shouted out a warning.
Something grabbed hold of him.
That was when his shout became a scream. Bran filled a fist with snow and threw it, but the wight did not so much as blink. A black hand fumbled44 at his face, another at his belly45. Its fingers felt like iron. He’s going to pull my guts46 out.
But suddenly Summer was between them. Bran glimpsed skin tear like cheap cloth, heard the splintering of bone. He saw a hand and wrist rip loose, pale fingers wriggling47, the sleeve faded black roughspun. Black, he thought, he’s wearing black, he was one of the Watch. Summer flung the arm aside, twisted, and sank his teeth into the dead man’s neck under the chin. When the big grey wolf wrenched48 free, he took most of the creature’s throat out in an explosion of pale rotten meat.
The severed49 hand was still moving. Bran rolled away from it. On his belly, clawing at the snow, he glimpsed the trees above, pale and snow-cloaked, the orange glow between.
Fifty yards. If he could drag himself fifty yards, they could not get him. Damp seeped50 through his gloves as he clutched at roots and rocks, crawling toward the light. A little farther, just a little farther. Then you can rest beside the fire.
The last light had vanished from amongst the trees by then. Night had fallen. Coldhands was hacking51 and cutting at the circle of dead men that surrounded him. Summer was tearing at the one that he’d brought down, its face between his teeth. No one was paying any mind to Bran. He crawled a little higher, dragging his useless legs behind him. If I can reach that cave …
“Hoooodor” came a whimper, from somewhere down below.
And suddenly he was not Bran, the broken boy crawling through the snow, suddenly he was Hodor halfway down the hill, with the wight raking at his eyes. Roaring, he came lurching to his feet, throwing the thing violently aside. It went to one knee, began to rise again. Bran ripped Hodor’s longsword from his belt. Deep inside he could hear poor Hodor whimpering still, but outside he was seven feet of fury with old iron in his hand. He raised the sword and brought it down upon the dead man, grunting52 as the blade sheared53 through wet wool and rusted54 mail and rotted leather, biting deep into the bones and flesh beneath. “HODOR!” he bellowed55, and slashed56 again. This time he took the wight’s head off at the neck, and for half a moment he exulted57 … until a pair of dead hands came groping blindly for his throat.
Bran backed away, bleeding, and Meera Reed was there, driving her frog spear deep into the wight’s back. “Hodor,” Bran roared again, waving her uphill. “Hodor, hodor.” Jojen was twisting feebly where she’d laid him down. Bran went to him, dropped the longsword, gathered the boy into Hodor’s arm, and lurched back to his feet. “HODOR!” he bellowed.
Meera led the way back up the hill, jabbing at the wights when they came near. The things could not be hurt, but they were slow and clumsy. “Hodor,” Hodor said with every step. “Hodor, hodor.” He wondered what Meera would think if he should suddenly tell her that he loved her.
Up above them, flaming figures were dancing in the snow.
The wights, Bran realized. Someone set the wights on fire.
Summer was snarling58 and snapping as he danced around the closest, a great ruin of a man wreathed in swirling59 flame. He shouldn’t get so close, what is he doing? Then he saw himself, sprawled facedown in the snow. Summer was trying to drive the thing away from him. What will happen if it kills me? the boy wondered. Will I be Hodor for good or all? Will I go back into Summer’s skin? Or will I just be dead?
The world moved dizzily around him. White trees, black sky, red flames, everything was whirling, shifting, spinning. He felt himself stumbling. He could hear Hodor screaming, “Hodor hodor hodor hodor. Hodor hodor hodor hodor. Hodor hodor hodor hodor hodor.” A cloud of ravens was pouring from the cave, and he saw a little girl with a torch in hand, darting60 this way and that. For a moment Bran thought it was his sister Arya … madly, for he knew his little sister was a thousand leagues away, or dead. And yet there she was, whirling, a scrawny thing, ragged, wild, her hair atangle. Tears filled Hodor’s eyes and froze there.
Everything turned inside out and upside down, and Bran found himself back inside his own skin, half-buried in the snow. The burning wight loomed61 over him, etched tall against the trees in their snowy shrouds62. It was one of the naked ones, Bran saw, in the instant before the nearest tree shook off the snow that covered it and dropped it all down upon his head.
The next he knew, he was lying on a bed of pine needles beneath a dark stone roof. The cave. I’m in the cave. His mouth still tasted of blood where he’d bitten his tongue, but a fire was burning to his right, the heat washing over his face, and he had never felt anything so good. Summer was there, sniffing63 round him, and Hodor, soaking wet. Meera cradled Jojen’s head in her lap. And the Arya thing stood over them, clutching her torch.
“The snow,” Bran said. “It fell on me. Buried me.”
“Hid you. I pulled you out.” Meera nodded at the girl. “It was her who saved us, though. The torch … fire kills them.”
“Fire burns them. Fire is always hungry.”
That was not Arya’s voice, nor any child’s. It was a woman’s voice, high and sweet, with a strange music in it like none that he had ever heard and a sadness that he thought might break his heart. Bran squinted64, to see her better. It was a girl, but smaller than Arya, her skin dappled like a doe’s beneath a cloak of leaves. Her eyes were queer—large and liquid, gold and green, slitted like a cat’s eyes. No one has eyes like that. Her hair was a tangle37 of brown and red and gold, autumn colors, with vines and twigs65 and withered66 flowers woven through it.
“Who are you?” Meera Reed was asking.
Bran knew. “She’s a child. A child of the forest.” He shivered, as much from wonderment as cold. They had fallen into one of Old Nan’s tales.
“The First Men named us children,” the little woman said. “The giants called us woh dak nag67 gran, the squirrel people, because we were small and quick and fond of trees, but we are no squirrels, no children. Our name in the True Tongue means those who sing the song of earth. Before your Old Tongue was ever spoken, we had sung our songs ten thousand years.”
Meera said, “You speak the Common Tongue now.”
“For him. The Bran boy. I was born in the time of the dragon, and for two hundred years I walked the world of men, to watch and listen and learn. I might be walking still, but my legs were sore and my heart was weary, so I turned my feet for home.”
“Two hundred years?” said Meera.
The child smiled. “Men, they are the children.”
“Do you have a name?” asked Bran.
“When I am needing one.” She waved her torch toward the black crack in the back wall of the cave. “Our way is down. You must come with me now.”
Bran shivered again. “The ranger …”
“He cannot come.”
“They’ll kill him.”
“No. They killed him long ago. Come now. It is warmer down deep, and no one will hurt you there. He is waiting for you.”
“The three-eyed crow?” asked Meera.
“The greenseer.” And with that she was off, and they had no choice but to follow. Meera helped Bran back up onto Hodor’s back, though his basket was half-crushed and wet from melting snow. Then she slipped an arm around her brother and shouldered him back onto his feet once more. His eyes opened. “What?” he said. “Meera? Where are we?” When he saw the fire, he smiled. “I had the strangest dream.”
The way was cramped68 and twisty, and so low that Hodor soon was crouching69. Bran hunched down as best he could, but even so, the top of his head was soon scraping and bumping against the ceiling. Loose dirt crumbled70 at each touch and dribbled71 down into his eyes and hair, and once he smacked72 his brow on a thick white root growing from the tunnel wall, with tendrils hanging from it and spiderwebs between its fingers.
The child went in front with the torch in hand, her cloak of leaves whispering behind her, but the passage turned so much that Bran soon lost sight of her. Then the only light was what was reflected off the passage walls. After they had gone down a little, the cave divided, but the left branch was dark as pitch, so even Hodor knew to follow the moving torch to the right.
The way the shadows shifted made it seem as if the walls were moving too. Bran saw great white snakes slithering in and out of the earth around him, and his heart thumped73 in fear. He wondered if they had blundered into a nest of milk snakes or giant grave worms, soft and pale and squishy. Grave worms have teeth.
Hodor saw them too. “Hodor,” he whimpered, reluctant to go on. But when the girl child stopped to let them catch her, the torchlight steadied, and Bran realized that the snakes were only white roots like the one he’d hit his head on. “It’s weirwood roots,” he said. “Remember the heart tree in the godswood, Hodor? The white tree with the red leaves? A tree can’t hurt you.”
“Hodor.” Hodor plunged74 ahead, hurrying after the child and her torch, deeper into the earth. They passed another branching, and another, then came into an echoing cavern75 as large as the great hall of Winterfell, with stone teeth hanging from its ceiling and more poking76 up through its floor. The child in the leafy cloak wove a path through them. From time to time she stopped and waved her torch at them impatiently. This way, it seemed to say, this way, this way, faster.
There were more side passages after that, more chambers77, and Bran heard dripping water somewhere to his right. When he looked off that way, he saw eyes looking back at them, slitted eyes that glowed bright, reflecting back the torchlight. More children, he told himself, the girl is not the only one, but Old Nan’s tale of Gendel’s children came back to him as well.
The roots were everywhere, twisting through earth and stone, closing off some passages and holding up the roofs of others. All the color is gone, Bran realized suddenly. The world was black soil and white wood. The heart tree at Winterfell had roots as thick around as a giant’s legs, but these were even thicker. And Bran had never seen so many of them. There must be a whole grove79 of weirwoods growing up above us.
The light dwindled80 again. Small as she was, the child-who-was-not-a-child moved quickly when she wanted. As Hodor thumped after her, something crunched81 beneath his feet. His halt was so sudden that Meera and Jojen almost slammed into his back.
“Bones,” said Bran. “It’s bones.” The floor of the passage was littered with the bones of birds and beasts. But there were other bones as well, big ones that must have come from giants and small ones that could have been from children. On either side of them, in niches82 carved from the stone, skulls84 looked down on them. Bran saw a bear skull83 and a wolf skull, half a dozen human skulls and near as many giants. All the rest were small, queerly formed. Children of the forest. The roots had grown in and around and through them, every one. A few had ravens perched atop them, watching them pass with bright black eyes.
The last part of their dark journey was the steepest. Hodor made the final descent on his arse, bumping and sliding downward in a clatter85 of broken bones, loose dirt, and pebbles86. The girl child was waiting for them, standing87 on one end of a natural bridge above a yawning chasm88. Down below in the darkness, Bran heard the sound of rushing water. An underground river.
“Do we have to cross?” Bran asked, as the Reeds came sliding down behind him. The prospect89 frightened him. If Hodor slipped on that narrow bridge, they would fall and fall.
“No, boy,” the child said. “Behind you.” She lifted her torch higher, and the light seemed to shift and change. One moment the flames burned orange and yellow, filling the cavern with a ruddy glow; then all the colors faded, leaving only black and white. Behind them Meera gasped90. Hodor turned.
Before them a pale lord in ebon finery sat dreaming in a tangled nest of roots, a woven weirwood throne that embraced his withered limbs as a mother does a child.
His body was so skeletal and his clothes so rotted that at first Bran took him for another corpse91, a dead man propped92 up so long that the roots had grown over him, under him, and through him. What skin the corpse lord showed was white, save for a bloody93 blotch94 that crept up his neck onto his cheek. His white hair was fine and thin as root hair and long enough to brush against the earthen floor. Roots coiled around his legs like wooden serpents. One burrowed95 through his breeches into the desiccated flesh of his thigh96, to emerge again from his shoulder. A spray of dark red leaves sprouted97 from his skull, and grey mushrooms spotted98 his brow. A little skin remained, stretched across his face, tight and hard as white leather, but even that was fraying99, and here and there the brown and yellow bone beneath was poking through.
“Are you the three-eyed crow?” Bran heard himself say. A three-eyed crow should have three eyes. He has only one, and that one red. Bran could feel the eye staring at him, shining like a pool of blood in the torchlight. Where his other eye should have been, a thin white root grew from an empty socket100, down his cheek, and into his neck.
“A … crow?” The pale lord’s voice was dry. His lips moved slowly, as if they had forgotten how to form words. “Once, aye. Black of garb101 and black of blood.” The clothes he wore were rotten and faded, spotted with moss102 and eaten through with worms, but once they had been black. “I have been many things, Bran. Now I am as you see me, and now you will understand why I could not come to you … except in dreams. I have watched you for a long time, watched you with a thousand eyes and one. I saw your birth, and that of your lord father before you. I saw your first step, heard your first word, was part of your first dream. I was watching when you fell. And now you are come to me at last, Brandon Stark103, though the hour is late.”
“I’m here,” Bran said, “only I’m broken. Will you … will you fix me … my legs, I mean?”
“No,” said the pale lord. “That is beyond my powers.”
Bran’s eyes filled with tears. We came such a long way. The chamber78 echoed to the sound of the black river.
“You will never walk again, Bran,” the pale lips promised, “but you will fly.”
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收听单词发音
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1
raven
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| n.渡鸟，乌鸦；adj.乌亮的 | |
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spine
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| n.脊柱，脊椎；(动植物的)刺；书脊 | |
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bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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hunched
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| （常指因寒冷、生病或愁苦）耸肩弓身的，伏首前倾的 | |
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ranger
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| n.国家公园管理员，护林员；骑兵巡逻队员 | |
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shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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warded
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| 有锁孔的，有钥匙榫槽的 | |
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halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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cleft
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| n.裂缝；adj.裂开的 | |
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ravens
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| n.低质煤；渡鸦( raven的名词复数 ) | |
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pristine
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| adj.原来的，古时的，原始的，纯净的，无垢的 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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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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nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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exhaled
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| v.呼出，发散出( exhale的过去式和过去分词 )；吐出（肺中的空气、烟等），呼气 | |
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miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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elk
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| n.麋鹿 | |
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collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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slit
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| n.狭长的切口；裂缝；vt.切开，撕裂 | |
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plowed
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| v.耕( plow的过去式和过去分词 )；犁耕；费力穿过 | |
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plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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gust
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| n.阵风，突然一阵（雨、烟等），（感情的）迸发 | |
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sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；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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snarled
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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labored
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| adj.吃力的，谨慎的v.努力争取(for)( labor的过去式和过去分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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33
avalanche
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| n.雪崩，大量涌来 | |
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34
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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35
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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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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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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chunk
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| n.厚片，大块，相当大的部分（数量） | |
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40
sprawled
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| v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的过去式和过去分词)；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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41
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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42
slash
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| vi.大幅度削减；vt.猛砍，尖锐抨击，大幅减少；n.猛砍，斜线，长切口，衣衩 | |
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43
lumbering
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| n.采伐林木 | |
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44
fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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45
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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46
guts
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| v.狼吞虎咽，贪婪地吃，飞碟游戏（比赛双方每组5人，相距15码，互相掷接飞碟）；毁坏（建筑物等）的内部( gut的第三人称单数 )；取出…的内脏n.勇气( gut的名词复数 )；内脏；消化道的下段；肠 | |
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47
wriggling
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的现在分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等）；蠕蠕 | |
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48
wrenched
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| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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49
severed
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| v.切断，断绝( sever的过去式和过去分词 )；断，裂 | |
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seeped
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| v.（液体）渗( seep的过去式和过去分词 )；渗透；渗出；漏出 | |
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51
hacking
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| n.非法访问计算机系统和数据库的活动 | |
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52
grunting
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| 咕哝的，呼噜的 | |
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53
sheared
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| v.剪羊毛( shear的过去式和过去分词 )；切断；剪切 | |
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rusted
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| v.（使）生锈( rust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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bellowed
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的过去式和过去分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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slashed
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| v.挥砍( slash的过去式和过去分词 )；鞭打；割破；削减 | |
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exulted
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| 狂喜，欢跃( exult的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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snarling
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的现在分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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swirling
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的现在分词 ) | |
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darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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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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62
shrouds
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| n.裹尸布( shroud的名词复数 )；寿衣；遮蔽物；覆盖物v.隐瞒( shroud的第三人称单数 )；保密 | |
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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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squinted
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| 斜视( squint的过去式和过去分词 )； 眯着眼睛； 瞟； 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
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twigs
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| 细枝，嫩枝( twig的名词复数 ) | |
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66
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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67
nag
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| v.(对…)不停地唠叨；n.爱唠叨的人 | |
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68
cramped
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| a.狭窄的 | |
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crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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70
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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71
dribbled
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| v.流口水( dribble的过去式和过去分词 )；（使液体）滴下或作细流；运球，带球 | |
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72
smacked
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| 拍，打，掴( smack的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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73
thumped
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| v.重击， （指心脏）急速跳动( thump的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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74
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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75
cavern
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| n.洞穴，大山洞 | |
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76
poking
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| n. 刺，戳，袋 vt. 拨开，刺，戳 vi. 戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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78
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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79
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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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
crunched
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| v.嘎吱嘎吱地咬嚼( crunch的过去式和过去分词 )；嘎吱作响；（快速大量地）处理信息；数字捣弄 | |
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82
niches
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| 壁龛( niche的名词复数 )； 合适的位置[工作等]； （产品的）商机； 生态位（一个生物所占据的生境的最小单位） | |
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83
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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84
skulls
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| 颅骨( skull的名词复数 )； 脑袋； 脑子； 脑瓜 | |
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85
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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86
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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87
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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88
chasm
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| n.深坑，断层，裂口，大分岐，利害冲突 | |
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89
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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90
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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91
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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92
propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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93
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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94
blotch
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| n.大斑点；红斑点；v.使沾上污渍，弄脏 | |
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95
burrowed
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| v.挖掘（洞穴），挖洞( burrow的过去式和过去分词 )；翻寻 | |
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96
thigh
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| n.大腿；股骨 | |
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97
sprouted
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| v.发芽( sprout的过去式和过去分词 )；抽芽；出现；（使）涌现出 | |
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98
spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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99
fraying
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| v.（使布、绳等）磨损，磨破( fray的现在分词 ) | |
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100
socket
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| n.窝，穴，孔，插座，插口 | |
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101
garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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102
moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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103
stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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