評論
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."
廣場上的群眾開始散去，人潮漸息，人們紛紛返回各自的生活。只是艾莉亞的生活卻已經找不著了，她麻木地跟著他……尤倫，對了，他叫尤倫。她不記得他回去找過縫衣針，可他卻把劍還給她。“小子，希望這東西你真的會用。”
I'm not... she started.
“我不是——”她開口。
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?"
他把她推進一道門，伸出臟兮兮的手指，抓住她的頭發往后一扯。“——不是個聰明小子，你是不是要說這個？”
He had a knife in his other hand.
他另一只手里握著匕首。
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.
眼見刀子朝她迎面逼近，艾莉亞猛地往后撞去，兩腳狂踢，死命扭頭，但他抓住了她的頭發，力氣好大，她覺得頭皮都被扯了下來。唇上，是咸咸的淚水。
Bran
布蘭
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.
他們之中最年長的已經成年，達到十七八歲，還有一個年過二十。但多數人都很年輕，在十六歲以下。
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.
布蘭在魯溫師傅塔樓的陽臺上觀看他們揮舞棍棒和木劍，氣喘吁吁，悶哼和咒罵。木頭敲擊的喀啦聲響徹校場，不時還傳來挨揍時發出的號叫。
