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howled_howled是什么意思

她的,他的,英语howled_howled是什么意思

发布时间：2016-12-08加入收藏来源：互联网点击：

“你就是这么干的，对吗，我亲爱的妹妹？”

“额，反正它们迟早还会被弄乱的，”她说。“谁会在意它们是怎么叠的呀？”

“Mordane老师会在意的，”Jon说到，“而且我猜呀，她肯定也不喜欢你让Nymeria来帮忙的。”那只母狼崽子用她那黑金色的眼睛默默地看了Jon一眼。“随你的便吧。我带了一件东西给你；因为你路上得带着它，所以你得把它小心地包起来，别让人看见。”

Arya的脸上露出了灿烂的笑容，“一件礼物？”

“你可以这么说，把门关上。”

Arya既好奇又兴奋，她先查看了一遍外面的大厅。“Nymeria，到这里来，站岗。”她让狼崽子留在门外，一有人来就警告他们，然后她关上了门。这时候，Jon已经解开了包裹外面的缠布。他把东西递给Arya。

Arya的眼睛睁得老大。那是一双黑色的眼睛，和Jon的眼睛颜色一样。“一把剑。”Arya屏住呼吸，轻声说道。

剑鞘是用柔软的灰色皮革做的，轻巧无比。Jon慢慢地抽出刀刃，Arya可以看见那精钢上的深蓝色光晕。“这可不是玩具，”Jon对Arya说。“你要小心，千万别伤着你自己。这剑刃可锋利了，都可以用来刮胡子。”

“女孩子是不刮胡子的，”Arya说。

“也许她们应该刮一下的。你有没有看见过Mordane老师的小腿？”

Arya咯咯地笑了起来，“她的腿可瘦了。”

“你也很瘦的，”Jon告诉她，“我是让Mikken专门打造的这把剑。在Pentos城、Myr城和其他的自由城里，剑客们都用的是像这样的剑。它并不能把人头给砍下来，不过如果你的剑法足够快的话，你可以把那人身上捅得满是窟窿。”

“我可以做到很快的，”Arya说。

“你得要天天练习才行。”Jon把剑放到Arya的手中，教她如何握住剑，然后Jon往后退了一步，“你握着它感觉怎么样？你觉得轻重适合你吗？”

“我觉得合适，”Arya说。

“先上第一堂课，”Jon说, “要用剑尖来制敌。”

Arya用剑从一面在Jon的手臂上猛拍了一下。这一击还是很疼的，可是Jon的脸上却笑得像个傻瓜一样。“我当然知道要用剑的哪一头啦，”Arya说。可是，她的脸上又掠过一丝迟疑的神色。

“Mordane老师会把我的剑给收走的。”

Jon说：“如果她不知道你有这把剑的话，她就不会了。”

“可我又能跟谁练剑呢？”

“你会找到人的，”Jon向她保证。“王城是一座真正的大城市，它可比Winterfell城要大一千倍呢。在你找到一个练剑对手之前，先在院子里观察其他人都是怎么用剑的。你还要练跑步，骑马，把身体练得棒棒的。而且不管你做什么……”

Arya知道他下面要说什么了。他们异口同声地说道：

“不要——告诉——Sansa！”

Jon又把Arya的头发弄乱，“我会想你的，妹妹。”

突然间，Arya看上去似乎就要哭了，“我好希望你能和我们一起去南方。”

“条条大路通城堡，谁知道以后会怎样呢？”Jon现在的情绪已经好多了。他再也不会再让自己伤心难过。“我得走了。我要是再让Benjen叔叔等下去的话，我估计我在长墙上的第一年里，就得天天给人倒尿壶啦。”

Arya跑上前去，给他最后一个拥抱。“你先把剑放下，”Jon笑着警告她。Arya略带羞愧地把剑放在一边，然后在他的脸上亲吻告别。

当Jon走到门口的时候，他又转过身来，看见Arya又拿起了那把剑，在试她的手感。“我差点就忘了，”Jon对Arya说。“所有的好剑都是有名字的。”

“就像寒冰剑一样，”Arya说。她看着自己手中的剑。“这把剑有名字吗？oh，告诉我嘛。”

“你猜猜看，”Jon逗她说，“是你最喜欢的东西。”

Arya一开始迷惑不解。接着她就想起来了。她的反应就是那么快。他们又异口同声地说道：

“针！”

Arya的笑声留在了Jon的记忆中，在他骑马去往北方的漫长旅途中，这笑声一路温暖着他。

【英语原文】

A Song of Ice and Fire

Book One: Game of Thrones

Jon

Jon climbed the steps slowly, trying not to think that this might be the last time ever. Ghost padded silently beside him. Outside, snow swirled through the castle gates, and the yard was all noise and chaos, but inside the thick stone walls it was still warm and quiet. Too quiet for Jon’s liking.

He reached the landing and stood for a long moment, afraid. Ghost nuzzled at his hand. He took courage from that. He straightened, and entered the room.

Lady Stark was there beside his bed. She had been there, day and night, for close on a fortnight. Not for a moment had she left Bran’s side. She had her meals brought to her there, and chamber pots as well, and a small hard bed to sleep on, though it was said she had scarcely slept at all. She fed him herself, the honey and water and herb mixture that sustained life. Not once did she leave the room. So Jon had stayed away.

But now there was no more time.

He stood in the door for a moment, afraid to speak, afraid to come closer. The window was open. Below, a wolf howled. Ghost heard and lifted his head.

Lady Stark looked over. For a moment she did not seem to recognize him. Finally she blinked. “What are you doing here?” she asked in a voice strangely flat and emotionless.

“I came to see Bran,” Jon said. “To say good-bye.”

Her face did not change. Her long auburn hair was dull and tangled. She looked as though she had aged twenty years. “You’ve said it. Now go away.”

Part of him wanted only to flee, but he knew that if he did he might never see Bran again. He took a nervous step into the room. “Please,” he said.

Something cold moved in her eyes. “I told you to leave,” she said. “We don’t want you here.”

Once that would have sent him running. Once that might even have made him cry. Now it only made him angry. He would be a Sworn Brother of the Night’s Watch soon, and face worse dangers than Catelyn Tully Stark. “He’s my brother,” he said.

“Shall I call the guards?”

“Call them,” Jon said, defiant. “You can’t stop me from seeing him.” He crossed the room, keeping the bed between them, and looked down on Bran where he lay.

She was holding one of his hands. It looked like a claw. This was not the Bran he remembered. The flesh had all gone from him. His skin stretched tight over bones like sticks. Under the blanket, his legs bent in ways that made Jon sick. His eyes were sunken deep into black pits; open, but they saw nothing. The fall had shrunken him somehow. He looked half a leaf, as if the first strong wind would carry him off to his grave.

Yet under the frail cage of those shattered ribs, his chest rose and fell with each shallow breath.

“Bran,” he said, “I’m sorry I didn’t come before. I was afraid.” He could feel the tears rolling down his cheeks. Jon no longer cared. “Don’t die, Bran. Please. We’re all waiting for you to wake up. Me and Robb and the girls, everyone . . .”

Lady Stark was watching. She had not raised a cry. Jon took that for acceptance. Outside the window, the direwolf howled again. The wolf that Bran had not had time to name.

“I have to go now,” Jon said. “Uncle Benjen is waiting. I’m to go north to the Wall. We have to leave today, before the snows come.” He remembered how excited Bran had been at the prospect of the journey. It was more than he could bear, the thought of leaving him behind like this. Jon brushed away his tears, leaned over, and kissed his brother lightly on the lips.

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