Mat and Perrin were mounted by the time Rand and Hurin reached them. Far behind him, Rand heard Ingtar's voice rise. "The Light, and Shinowa!" The clash of steel joined the roar of other voices.
"Where's Ingtar?" Mat shouted. "What's going on?" He had the Horn of Valere lashed2 to the high pommel of his saddle as if it were just any horn, but the dagger3 was in his belt, the ruby-tipped hilt cupped protectively in a pale hand that seemed made of nothing but bone and sinew.
"He's dying," Rand said harshly as he swung onto Red's back.
"Then we have to help him," Perrin said. "Mat can take the Horn and the dagger on to - "
"He is doing it so we can all get away," Rand said. For that, too. "We will all take the Horn to Verin, and then you can help her take it wherever she says it belongs."
"What do you mean?" Perrin asked. Rand dug his heels into the bay's flanks, and Red leaped away toward the hills beyond the town.
"The Light, and Shinowa!" Ingtar's shout soared after him, sounding triumphant4, and lightning crashed across the sky in answer.
Rand whipped Red with his reins5, then lay against the stallion's neck as the bay laid out in a dead run, mane and tail streaming. He wished he did not feel as if he were running away from Ingtar's cry, running from what he was supposed to do. Ingtar, a Darkfriend. I don't care. He was still my friend. The bay's gallop6 could not take him away from his own thoughts. Death is lighter7 than a feather, duty heavier than a mountain. So many duties. Egwene. The Horn. Fain. Mat and his dagger. Why can't there just be one at a time? I have to take care of all of them. Oh, Light, Egwene!
He reined8 in so suddenly that Red slid to a halt, sitting back on his haunches. They were in a scanty9 copse of bare-branched trees atop one of the hills overlooking Falme. The others galloped10 up behind him.
"What do you mean?" Perrin demanded. "We can help Verin take the Horn where it's supposed to go? Where are you going to be?"
"Maybe he's going mad already," Mat said. "He wouldn't want to stay with us if he was going mad. Would you, Rand?"
"You three take the Horn to Verin," Rand said. Egwene. So many threads, in so much danger. So many duties. "You do not need me."
Mat caressed11 the dagger's hilt. "That's all very well, but what about you? Burn me, you can't be going mad yet. You can't!" Hurin gaped12 at them, not understanding half of it.
"I'm going back," Rand said. "I should never have left." Somehow, that did not sound exactly right in his own ears; it did not feel right inside his head. "I have to go back. Now." That sounded better. "Egwene is still there, remember. With one of chose collars around her neck."
"Are you sure?" Mat said. "I never saw her. Aaaah! If you say she is there, then she's there. We'll all take the Horn to Verin, and then we will all go back for her. You don't think I would leave her there, do you?"
Rand shook his head. Threads. Duties. He felt as if he were about to explode like a firework. Light, what's happening to me? "Mat, Verin must take you and that dagger to Tar1 Valon, so you can finally be free of it. You don't have any time to waste."
"Saving Egwene isn't wasting time!" But Mat's hand had tightened13 on the dagger till it shook.
"We aren't any of us going back," Perrin said. "Not yet. Look." He pointed14 back toward Falme.
The wagon15 yards and horse lots were turning black with Seanchan soldiers, thousands of them rank on rank, with troops of cavalry16 riding scaled beasts as well as armored men on horses, colorful gonfanons marking the officers. Grolm dotted the ranks, and other strange creatures, almost but not quite like monstrous17 birds and lizards18, and great things like nothing he could describe, with gray, wrinkled skin and huge tusks19. At intervals20 along the lines stood sul'dam and damane by the score. Rand wondered if Egwene were one of them. In the town behind the soldiers, a rooftop still exploded now and again, and lightning still streaked21 the sky. Two flying beasts, with leathery wings twenty spans tip to tip, soared high overhead, keeping well away from where the bright bolts danced.
"All that for us?" Mat said incredulously. "Who do they think we are?"
An answer came to Rand, but he shoved it away before it had a chance to form completely.
"We aren't going the other way either, Lord Rand," Hurin said. "Whitecloaks. Hundreds of them."
Rand wheeled his horse to look where the sniffer was pointing. A long, white-cloaked line rippled23 slowly toward them across the hills.
"Lord Rand," Hurin muttered, "if that lot lays an eye on the Horn of Valere, we'll never get it close to an Aes Sedai. We'll never get close to it again ourselves."
"Maybe that's why the Seanchan are gathering," Mat said hopefully. "Because of the Whitecloaks. Maybe it doesn't have anything to do with us at all."
"Whether it does or not," Perrin said dryly, "there is going to be a battle here in a few minutes."
"Either side could kill us," Hurin said, "even if they never see the Horn. If they do. . . . "
Rand could not manage to think about the Whitecloaks, or the Seanchan. I have to go back. Have to. He was staring at the Horn of Valere, he realized. They all were. The curled, golden Horn hung at Mat's pommel, the focus of every eye.
"It has to be there at the Last Battle," Mat said, licking his lips. "Nothing says it can't be used before then." He pulled the Horn free of its lashings and looked at them anxiously. "Nothing says it can't."
No one else said anything. Rand did not think he could speak; his own thoughts were too urgent to allow room for speech. Have to go back. Have to go back. The longer he looked at the Horn, the more urgent his thoughts became. Have to. Have to.
Mat's hand shook as he raised the Horn of Valere to his lips.
It was a clear note, golden as the Horn was golden. The trees around them seemed to resonate with it, and the ground under their feet, the sky overhead. That one long sound encompassed24 everything.
Out of nowhere, a fog began to rise. First thin wisps hanging in the air, then thicker billows, and thicker, until it blanketed the land like clouds.
Geofram Bornhald stiffened25 in his saddle as a sound filled the air, so sweet he wanted to laugh, so mournful he wanted to cry. It seemed to come from every direction at once. A mist began to rise, growing even as he watched.
The Seanchan. They are trying something. They know we are here.
It was too soon, the town too far, but he drew his sword - a clatter26 of scabbards ran down the rank of his half legion - and called, "The legion will advance at a trot27."
The fog covered everything, now, but he knew Falme was still there, ahead. The pace of the horses picked up; he could not see them, but he could hear.
Abruptly28 the ground ahead flew up with a roar, showering him with dirt and pebbles29. From the white blindness to his right he heard another roar, and men and horses screamed, then from his left, and again. Again. Thunder and screams, hidden by the fog.
"The legion will charge!" His horse leaped forward as he dug in his heels, and he heard the roar as the legion, as much of it as still lived, followed.
Thunder and screams, wrapped in whiteness.
His last thought was regret. Byar would not be able to tell his son Dain how he had died.
Rand could not see the trees around them any longer. Mat had lowered the Horn, eyes wide with awe30, but the sound of it still rang in Rand's ears. The fog hid everything in rolling waves as white as the finest bleached31 wool, yet Rand could see. He could see, but it was mad. Falme floated somewhere beneath him, its landward border black with the Seanchan ranks, lightning ripping its streets. Falme hung over his head. There Whitecloaks charged and died as the earth opened in fire beneath their horses' hooves. There men ran about the decks of tall, square ships in the harbor, and on one ship, a familiar ship, fearful men waited. He could even recognize the face of the captain. Bayle Domon. He clutched his head with both hands. The trees were hidden, but he could still see each of the others clearly. Hurin anxious. Mat muttering, fearful. Perrin looking as if he knew this was meant to be. The fog roiled33 up all around them.
Hurin gasped34. "Lord Rand!" There was no need for him to point.
Down the billowing fog, as if it were the side of a mountain, rode shapes on horses. At first the dense36 mists hid more than that, but slowly they came closer, and it was Rand's turn to gasp35. He knew them. Men, not all in armor, and women. Their clothes and their weapons came from every Age, but he knew them all.
Rogosh Eagle-eye, a fatherly looking man with white hair and eyes so sharp as to make his name merely a hint. Gaidal Cain, a swarthy man with the hilts of his two swords sticking above his broad shoulders. Golden-haired Birgitte, with her gleaming silver bow and quiver bristling37 with silver arrows. More. He knew their faces, knew their names. But he heard a hundred names when he looked at each face, some so different he did not recognize them as names at all, though he knew they were. Michael instead of Mikel. Patrick instead of Paedrig. Oscar instead of Otarin.
He knew the man who rode at their head, too. Tall and hook-nosed, with dark, deep-set eyes, his great sword justice at his side. Artur Hawkwing.
Mat gaped at them as they reined in before him and the others. "Is this. . . ? Is this all of you?" They were little more than a hundred, Rand saw, and realized that somehow he had known that they would be. Hurin's mouth hung open; his eyes bulged38 almost out of his head.
"It takes more than bravery to bind39 a man to the Horn." Artur Hawkwing's voice was deep and carrying, a voice used to giving commands.
"Or a woman," Birgitte said sharply.
"Or a woman," Hawkwing agreed. "Only a few are bound to the Wheel, spun40 out again and again to work the will of the Wheel in the Pattern of the Ages. You could tell him, Lews Therin, could you but remember when you wore flesh." He was looking at Rand.
Rand shook his head, but he would not waste time with denials. "Invaders41 have come, men who call themselves Seanchan, who use chained Aes Sedai in battle. They must be driven back into the sea. And - and there is a girl. Egwene al'Vere. A novice42 from the White Tower. The Seanchan have her prisoner. You must help me free her."
To his surprise, several of the small host behind Artur Hawkwing chuckled43, and Birgitte, testing her bowstring, laughed. "You always choose women who cause you trouble, Lews Therin." It had a fond sound, as between old friends.
"My name is Rand al'Thor," he snapped. "You have to hurry. There isn't much time."
"Time?" Birgitte said, smiling. "We have all of time." Gaidal Cain dropped his reins and, guiding his horse with his knees, drew a sword in either hand. All along the small band of heroes there was an unsheathing of swords, an unlimbering of bows, a hefting of spears and axes.
Justice shone like a mirror in Artur Hawkwing's gauntleted fist. "I have fought by your side times beyond number, Lews Therin, and faced you as many more. The Wheel spins us out for its purposes, not ours, to serve the Pattern. I know you, if you do not know yourself. We will drive these invaders out for you." His warhorse pranced45, and he looked around, frowning. "Something is wrong here. Something holds me." Suddenly he turned his sharp-eyed gaze on Rand. "You are here. Have you the banner?" A murmur46 ran through those behind him.
"Yes." Rand tore open the straps47 of his saddlebags and pulled out the Dragon's banner. It filled his hands and hung almost to his stallion's knees. The murmur among the heroes rose.
"The Pattern weaves itself around our necks like halters," Artur Hawkwing said. "You are here. The banner is here. The weave of this moment is set. We have come to the Horn, but we must follow the banner. And the Dragon." Hurin made a faint sound as if his throat had seized.
"Burn me," Mat breathed. "It's true. Burn me!"
Perrin hesitated only an instant before swinging down off his horse and striding into the mist. There came a chopping sound, and when he returned, he carried a straight length of sapling shorn of its branches. "Give it to me, Rand," he said gravely. "If they need it . . . . Give it to me."
Hastily, Rand helped him tie the banner to the pole. When Perrin remounted, pole in hand, a current of air seemed to ripple22 the pale length of the banner, so the serpentine48 Dragon appeared to move, alive. The wind did not touch the heavy fog, only the banner.
"You stay here," Rand told Hurin. "When it's over . . . . You will be safe, here."
Hurin drew his short sword, holding it as if it might actually be of some use from horseback. "Begging your pardon, Lord Rand, but I think not. I don't understand the tenth part of what I've heard . . . or what I'm seeing" - his voice dropped to a mutter before picking up again - "but I've come this far, and I think I'll go the rest of the way."
Artur Hawkwing clapped the sniffer on the shoulder. "Sometimes the Wheel adds to our number, friend. Perhaps you will find yourself among us, one day." Hurin sat up as if he had been offered a crown. Hawkwing bowed formally from his saddle to Rand. "With your permission . . . Lord Rand. Trumpeter, will you give us music on the Horn? Fitting that the Horn of Valere should sing us into battle. Bannerman, will you advance?"
Mat sounded the Horn again, long and high - the mists rang with it - and Perrin heeled his horse forward. Rand drew the heron-mark blade and rode between them.
He could see nothing but thick billows of white, but somehow he could still see what he had before, too. Falme, where someone used the Power in the streets, and the harbor, and the Seanchan host, and the dying Whitecloaks, all of it beneath him, all of him hanging above, all of it just as it had been. It seemed as if no time at all had passed since the Horn was first blown, as though time had paused while the heroes answered the call and now resumed counting.
The wild cries Mat wrung49 from the Horn echoed in the fog, and the drumming of hooves as the horses picked up speed. Rand charged into the mists, wondering if he knew where he was headed. The clouds thickened, hiding the far ends of the rank of heroes galloping50 to either side of him, obscuring more and more, till he could see only Mat and Perrin and Hurin clearly. Hurin crouched51 low in his saddle, wide-eyed, urging his horse on. Mat sounding the Horn, and laughing between. Perrin, his yellow eyes glowing, the Dragon's banner streaming behind him. Then they were gone, too, and Rand rode on alone, as it seemed.
In a way, he could still see them, but now it was the way he could see Falme, and the Seanchan. He could not tell where they were, or where he was. He tightened his grip on his sword, peered into the mists ahead. He charged alone through the fog, and somehow he knew that was how it was meant to be.
Suddenly Ba'alzamon was before him in the mists, throwing his arms wide.
Red reared wildly, hurling52 Rand from his saddle. Rand clung to his sword desperately53 as he soared. It was not a hard landing. In fact, he thought with a sense of wonder that it was very much like landing on . . . nothing at all. One instant he was sailing through the mists, and the next he was not.
When he climbed to his feet, his horse was gone, but Ba'alzamon was still there, striding toward him with a long, black-charred54 staff in his hands. They were alone, only they and the rolling fog. Behind Ba'alzamon was shadow. The mist was not dark behind him; this blackness excluded the white fog.
Rand was aware of the other things, too. Artur Hawkwing and the other heroes meeting the Seanchan in dense fog. Perrin, with the banner, swinging his axe44 more to fend55 off those who tried to reach him than harm them. Mat, still blowing wild notes on the Horn of Valere. Hurin down from his saddle, fighting with short sword and sword-breaker in the way he knew. It seemed as if the Seanchan numbers would overwhelm them in one rush, yet it was the dark-armored Seanchan who fell back.
Rand went forward to meet Ba'alzamon. Reluctantly, he assumed the void, reached for the True Source, was filled with the One Power. There was no other way. Perhaps he had no chance against the Dark One, but whatever chance he did have lay in the Power. It soaked into his limbs, seemed to suffuse56 everything about him, his clothes, his sword. He felt as if he should be glowing like the sun. It thrilled him; it made him want to vomit57.
"Get out of my way," he grated. "I am not here for you!"
"The girl?" Ba'alzamon laughed. His mouth turned to flame. His burns were all but healed, leaving only a few pink scars that were already fading.
He looked like a handsome man of middle years. Except for his mouth, and his eyes. "Which one, Lews Therin? You will not have anyone to help you this time. You are mine, or you are dead. In which case, you are mine anyway. "
"Liar32!" Rand snarled58. He struck at Ba'alzamon, but the staff of charred wood turned his blade in a shower of sparks. "Father of Lies!"
"Fool! Did those other fools you summoned not tell you who you are?" The fires of Ba'alzamon's face roared with laughter.
Even floating in emptiness, Rand felt a chill. Would they have lied? I don't want to be the Dragon Reborn. He firmed his grip on his sword. Parting the Silk, but Ba'alzamon beat every cut aside; sparks flew as from a blacksmith's forge and hammer. "I have business in Falme, and none with you. Never with you," Rand said. I have to hold his attention until they can free Egwene. In that odd way, he could see the battle rage among the fog-shrouded wagon yards and horse lots.
"You pitiful wretch59. You have sounded the Horn of Valere. You are linked to it, now. Do you think the worms of the White Tower will ever release you, now? They will put chains around your neck so heavy you will never cut them."
Rand was so surprised he felt it inside the void. He doesn't know everything. He doesn't know! He was sure it must show on his face. To cover it, he rushed at Ba'alzamon. Hummingbird60 Kisses the Honeyrose. The Moon on the Water. The Swallow Rides the Air. Lightning arched between sword and staff. Coruscating61 glitter showered the fog. Yet Ba'alzamon fell back, his eyes blazing in furious furnaces.
At the edge of his awareness62, Rand saw the Seanchan falling back in the streets of Falme, fighting desperately. Damane tore the earth with the One Power, but it could not harm Artur Hawkwing, nor the other heroes of the Horn.
"Will you remain a slug beneath a rock?" Ba'alzamon snarled. The darkness behind him boiled and stirred. "You kill yourself while we stand here. The Power rages in you. It burns you. It is killing63 you! I alone in all the world can teach you how to control it. Serve me, and live. Serve me, or die!"
"Never!" Have to hold him long enough. Hurry, Hawkwing. Hurry! He launched himself at Ba'alzamon again. The Dove Takes Flight. The Falling Leaf.
This time it was he who was driven back. Dimly, he saw the Seanchan fighting their way back in among the stables. He redoubled his efforts. The Kingfisher Takes a Silverback. The Seanchan gave way to a charge, Artur Hawkwing and Perrin side by side in the van. Bundling Straw. Ba'alzamon caught his blow in a fountain like crimson64 fireflies, and he had to leap away before the staff split his head; the wind of the blow ruffled65 his hair. The Seanchan surged forward. Striking the Spark. Sparks flew like hail, Ba'alzamon jumped from his stroke, and the Seanchan were driven back to the cobblestone streets.
Rand wanted to howl aloud. Suddenly he knew that the two battles were linked. When he advanced, the heroes called by the Horn drove the Seanchan back; when he fell back, the Seanchan rose up.
"They will not save you," Ba'alzamon said. "Those who might save you will be carried far across the Aryth Ocean. If ever you see them again, they will be collared slaves, and they will destroy you for their new masters."
Egwene. I can't let them do that to her.
Ba'alzamon's voice rode over his thoughts. "You have only one salvation66, Rand al'Thor. Lews Therin Kinslayer. I am your only salvation. Serve me, and I will give you the world. Resist, and I will destroy you as I have so often before. But this time I will destroy you to your very soul, destroy you utterly67 and forever."
I have won again, Lews Therin. The thought was beyond the void, yet it took an effort to ignore it, not to think of all the lives where he had heard it. He shifted his sword, and Ba'alzamon readied his staff.
For the first time Rand realized that Ba'alzamon acted as if the heron-mark blade could harm him. Steel can't hurt the Dark One. But Ba'alzamon watched the sword warily68. Rand was one with the sword. He could feel every particle of it, tiny bits a thousand times too small to be seen with the eye. And he could feel the Power that suffused69 him running into the sword, as well, threading through the intricate matrices wrought70 by Aes Sedai during the Trolloc Wars.
It was another voice he heard then. Lan's voice. There will come a time when you want something more than you want life. Ingtar's voice. It is every man's right to choose when to Sheathe71 the Sword. The picture formed of Egwene, collared, living her life as a damane. Threads of my life in danger. Egwene. If Hawking72 gets into Falme, he can save her. Before he knew it, he had taken the first position of Heron Wading73 in the Rushes, balanced on one foot, sword raised high, open and defenseless. Death is lighter than a feather, duty heavier than a mountain.
Ba'alzamon stared at him. "Why are you grinning like an idiot, fool? Do you not know I can destroy you utterly?"
Rand felt a calmness beyond that of the void. "I will never serve you, Father of Lies. In a thousand lives, I never have. I know that. I'm sure of it. Come. It is time to die."
Ba'alzamon's eyes widened; for an instant they were furnaces that put sweat on Rand's face. The blackness behind Ba'alzamon boiled up around him, and his face hardened. "Then die, worm!" He struck with the staff, as with a spear.
Rand screamed as he felt it pierce his side, burning like a white-hot poker74. The void trembled, but he held on with the last of his strength, and drove the heron-mark blade into Ba'alzamon's heart. Ba'alzamon screamed, and the dark behind him screamed. The world exploded in fire.
收听单词发音 |
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tar
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| n.柏油，焦油；vt.涂或浇柏油/焦油于 | |
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lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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dagger
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| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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reined
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| 勒缰绳使（马）停步( rein的过去式和过去分词 )； 驾驭； 严格控制； 加强管理 | |
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scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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galloped
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| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
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caressed
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| 爱抚或抚摸…( caress的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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gaped
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| v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的过去式和过去分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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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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cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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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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lizards
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| n.蜥蜴( lizard的名词复数 ) | |
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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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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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streaked
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| adj.有条斑纹的，不安的v.快速移动( streak的过去式和过去分词 )；使布满条纹 | |
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ripple
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| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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rippled
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| 使泛起涟漪（ripple的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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encompassed
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| v.围绕( encompass的过去式和过去分词 )；包围；包含；包括 | |
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stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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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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awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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bleached
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| 漂白的，晒白的，颜色变浅的 | |
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liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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roiled
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| v.搅混（液体）( roil的过去式和过去分词 )；使烦恼；使不安；使生气 | |
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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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gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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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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bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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bulged
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| 凸出( bulge的过去式和过去分词 )； 充满； 塞满（某物） | |
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bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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invaders
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| 入侵者，侵略者，侵入物( invader的名词复数 ) | |
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novice
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| adj.新手的，生手的 | |
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chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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pranced
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| v.（马）腾跃( prance的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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straps
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| n.带子( strap的名词复数 )；挎带；肩带；背带v.用皮带捆扎( strap的第三人称单数 )；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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serpentine
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| adj.蜿蜒的，弯曲的 | |
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wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hurling
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| n.爱尔兰式曲棍球v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的现在分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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charred
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| v.把…烧成炭( char的过去式)；烧焦 | |
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fend
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| v.照料（自己），（自己）谋生，挡开，避开 | |
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suffuse
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| v.(色彩等)弥漫，染遍 | |
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vomit
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| v.呕吐，作呕；n.呕吐物，吐出物 | |
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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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wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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hummingbird
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| n.蜂鸟 | |
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coruscating
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| v.闪光，闪烁( coruscate的现在分词 ) | |
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awareness
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| n.意识，觉悟，懂事，明智 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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warily
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| adv.留心地 | |
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suffused
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| v.（指颜色、水气等）弥漫于，布满( suffuse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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sheathe
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| v.（将刀剑）插入鞘；包，覆盖 | |
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hawking
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| 利用鹰行猎 | |
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wading
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的现在分词 ) | |
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poker
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| n.扑克；vt.烙制 | |
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