评论
打印
The plaza was beginning to empty. The press dissolved around them as people drifted back to their lives. But Arya's life was gone. Numb, she trailed along beside... Yoren, yes, his name is Yoren. She did not recall him finding Needle, until he handed the sword back to her. "Hope you can use that, boy."
广场上的群众开始散去，人潮渐息，人们纷纷返回各自的生活。只是艾莉亚的生活却已经找不着了，她麻木地跟着他……尤伦，对了，他叫尤伦。她不记得他回去找过缝衣针，可他却把剑还给她。“小子，希望这东西你真的会用。”
I'm not... she started.
“我不是——”她开口。
He shoved her into a doorway, thrust dirty fingers through her hair, and gave it a twist, yanking her head back. "...not a smart boy, that what you mean to say?"
他把她推进一道门，伸出脏兮兮的手指，抓住她的头发往后一扯。“——不是个聪明小子，你是不是要说这个？”
He had a knife in his other hand.
他另一只手里握着匕首。
As the blade flashed toward her face, Arya threw herself backward, kicking wildly, wrenching her head from side to side, but he had her by the hair, so strong, she could feel her scalp tearing, and on her lips the salt taste of tears.
眼见刀子朝她迎面逼近，艾莉亚猛地往后撞去，两脚狂踢，死命扭头，但他抓住了她的头发，力气好大，她觉得头皮都被扯了下来。唇上，是咸咸的泪水。
Bran
布兰
The oldest were men grown, seventeen and eighteen years from the day of their naming. One was past twenty. Most were younger, sixteen or less.
他们之中最年长的已经成年，达到十七八岁，还有一个年过二十。但多数人都很年轻，在十六岁以下。
Bran watched them from the balcony of Maester Luwin's turret, listening to them grunt and strain and curse as they swung their staves and wooden swords. The yard was alive to the clack of wood on wood, punctuated all too often by thwacks and yowls of pain when a blow struck leather or flesh.
布兰在鲁温师傅塔楼的阳台上观看他们挥舞棍棒和木剑，气喘吁吁，闷哼和咒骂。木头敲击的喀啦声响彻校场，不时还传来挨揍时发出的号叫。
