[翻译＋剧透] 布蕾妮 VS 尖牙 －更新－ 布蕾妮 VS 伪·猎狗
能力有限，很多地方实在翻不出原文的味道，还请见谅。
这一幕相当血腥，骇人，尖牙这个怪物比魔山更恐怖。
在吃饭的或者心里承受能力不太好的就表往下拉了罢 囧...
再贴上战尖牙之前的一场战斗，翻译同样很囧，请多包含.
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骑手们翻身下马时，一道闪电突然炸向南方。有半个心跳的瞬间，黑夜亮如白昼。布蕾妮瞥见斧头泛出的银蓝色微光，以及锁甲和板甲反射的光芒，为首骑者的黑色兜帽下，是一张咆哮的铁嘴和两排钢牙。
詹德利也看见了。“他。”
“不是他。是他的头盔。”布蕾妮拼命抑制声音里的恐惧，但嘴里已如尘土般干涩。布蕾妮很清楚戴着猎狗头盔的人是谁。孩子们，她想到。
旅店大门砰的一声打开。薇洛[Willow]走出来，手里端着一张十字弓，踏入雨中。女孩对着骑手们大声叫喊，但一阵雷声滚过院子上空，将她的声音淹没。雷鸣退去，布蕾妮听见那个戴着猎狗头盔的人开口道，“敢放箭，我就把那十字弓塞进你阴道，拿它狠狠干你。再把你该死的眼睛全挖出来喂你吃。”那人话里的怒意逼得女孩退后一步，浑身发抖。
他们有七个人，布蕾妮再次想到，几乎绝望。以一对七，她一点机会都没有，她心里很清楚。没机会，也没得选择。
她踏入雨中，守誓者在手。“离她远点儿。想强暴的话，试试我这里。”
土匪们一齐转向她。有人笑出声来，还有一个用布蕾妮听不懂的语言说了些什么。那个有着一张惨白阔脸的巨人只是发出一阵饱含恶意的嘶嘶声。头盔下的男人放声大笑。“你的模样比我记得的还要丑。我宁愿去干你的马。”
“马，我们要的是马，”某个受伤的男子说到。“精力充沛的马，还有食物。后面有土匪在追我们。把马交出来，我们就走。不会伤害你们。”
“去他妈的。”戴头盔的土匪从鞍囊里拽出战斧。“我要把她妈的腿剁了。我要让她杵在断腿上，看着我干那个拿弓的女孩。”
“拿什么干？”布蕾妮嘲讽道。“沙格维尔说他们把你的老二连鼻子一齐割掉了。”
她想以此激怒对方，很有效。匪首大声咒骂，向她冲来，脚步溅起黑色的泥水。其他土匪纷纷退后，看起好戏来，正中她下怀。院子里很黑，脚下的泥土十分光滑。让他冲过来比较好。如果诸神慈悲，他还会失足跌倒。
诸神没那么好，她手里的长剑则不然。五步，四步，就是现在，布蕾妮计算着，然后守誓者上掠，迎向冲锋。钢铁相拼，长剑咬穿外套，在他锁甲上割开一道切口，斧头向下劈来。布蕾妮转到一旁，长剑再次砍上对方胸膛，然后后撤。
对方淌着血，蹒跚着跟上，咆哮中带着狂怒。“妓女！”他吼道。“怪物！婊子！我要把你扔给我的狗去日，你她妈的臭婊子！”大斧挥出致命的弧线，每一道闪电都将那残忍的黑影变成银色。布蕾妮没有盾牌，无法格挡。她能做的只有从他面前闪离，在斧头飞来的时候快速躲开。有一次她脚后跟突然打滑，差点摔倒，好在及时恢复平衡，然而大斧擦过她左肩，留下灼烧般的疼痛，以示警告。“你砍到这婊子了！”有人喊道，另一个则说，“让我们看看她怎么跳着躲过那一斧。[Let’s see her dance away from that one.]”
她在舞蹈，见他们只是在看热闹，她才放下心来。总比被他们围攻要好得多。她对付不了七个人，至少单独的时候不行，对方有一两个受伤的也一样。布蕾妮能听见古德温老爵士在她耳畔低语，即使老人已入土多年。男人们总是会低估你的实力，他说，而骄傲会迫使他们想要迅速将你击倒，以免别人嘲笑他被一介女流拖垮。让他们在狂暴的进攻中消耗力气，你自己则保存实力。等待并观察，姑娘，等待并观察。她等待着，观察着，侧移，后退，再侧移，劈他的脸，砍他双腿，再砍他胳膊。他的斧头越来越沉，攻击也越来越缓慢。布蕾妮带着他转身，好让雨水落进他双眼，然后快退两步。他再次举起斧头，一边咒骂，一边摇晃着向她走来，一条腿在泥泞里滑行...
...然后她跳着迎上去，双手握住剑柄。对方前倾的身体刚好将他带到剑尖，守誓者穿过布料和锁甲，皮革和又一层布料，深入腹中，再从背后穿出，剑身刮过脊骨发出一阵刺耳的声音。大斧从他无力的指间滑落，而二人也撞在一起，布蕾妮的脸顶上狗头头盔。她能感觉到冰冷的湿铁紧抵着面颊。雨水河流般从钢盔上冲刷而下，闪电再次点亮黑夜的瞬间，她从他眼缝里看到了痛苦，恐惧和难以置信。“蓝宝石，”她轻声说道，同时将长剑使劲一拧，他抽搐了一下。他的重量压在她身上，死沉死沉，下一秒钟，她环抱着一具尸体，站在黑色的雨中。布蕾妮后退，让他倒下...
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Lightning cracked to the south as the riders swung down off their horses. For half a heartbeat darkness turned to day. An axe gleamed silvery blue, light shimmered off mail and plate, and beneath the dark hood of the lead rider Brienne glimpsed an iron snout and rows of steel teeth, snarling.
Gendry saw it too. “Him.”
“Not him. His helm.” Brienne tried to keep the fear from her voice, but her mouth was dry as dust. She had a pretty good notion who wore the Hound’s helm. The children, she thought.
The door to the inn banged open. Willow stepped out into the rain, a crossbow in her hands. The girl was shouting at the riders, but a clap of thunder rolled across the yard, drowning out her words. As it faded, Brienne heard the man in the Hound’s helm say, “Loose a quarrel at me and I’ll shove that crossbow up your cunt and fuck you with it. Then I’ll pop your fucking eyes out and make you eat them.” The fury in the man’s voice drove Willow back a step, trembling.
Seven, Brienne thought again, despairing. She had no chance against seven, she knew. No chance, and no choice.
She stepped out into the rain, Oathkeeper in hand. “Leave her be. If you want to rape someone, try me.”
The oulaws turned as one. One laughed, and another said something in a tongue Brienne did not know. The huge one with the broad white face gave a malevolent hissssssssssssssss. The man in the Hound’s helm began to laugh. “You’re even uglier than I remembered. I’d sooner rape your horse.”
“Horses, that’s what we want,” one of the wounded men said. “Fresh horses, and some food. There are outlaws after us. Give us your horses and we’ll be gone. We won’t do you harm.”
“Fuck that.” The outlaw in the Hound’s helm yanked a battle axe off his saddle. “I want to cut her bloody legs off. I’ll set her on her stumps so she can watch me fuck the crossbow girl.”
“With what?” taunted Brienne. “Shagwell said they cut your manhood off when they took your nose.”
She meant it to provoke him, and it did. Bellowing curses, he came at her, his feet sending up splashes of black water as he charged. The others stood back to watch the show, as she had prayed they might. Brienne stayed as still as stone, waiting. The yard was dark, the mud slippery underfoot. Better to let him come to me. If the gods are good, he’ll slip and fall.
The gods were not that good, but her sword was. Five steps, four steps, now, Brienne counted, and Oathkeeper swept up to meet his rush. Steel crashed against steel as her blade bit through his rags and opened a gash in his chainmail, even as his axe came crashing down at her. She twisted aside, slashing at his chest again as she retreated.
He followed, staggering and bleeding, roaring rage. “Whore!” he boomed. “Freak! Bitch! I’ll give you to my dog to fuck, you bloody bitch!” His axe whirled in murderous arcs, a brutal black shadow that turned silver every time the lightning flashed. Brienne had no shield to catch the blows. All she could do was slide back away from him, darting this way and that as the axehead flew at her. Once the mud gave way under her heel and she almost fell, but somehow she recovered herself, though the axe grazed her left shoulder that time and left a blaze of pain in its wake. “You got the bitch!” one of the others called, and another said, “Let’s see her dance away from that one.”
Dance she did, relieved that they were watching. Better that than have them interfere. She could not fight seven, not alone, even if one or two were wounded. Old Ser Goodwin was long in his grave, yet she could hear him whispering in her ear. Men will always underestimate you, he said, and their pride will make them want to vanquish you quickly, lest it be said that a woman tried them sorely. Let them spend their strength in furious attacks, whilst you conserve your own. Wait and watch, girl, wait and watch. She waited, watching, moving sideways, then backwards, then sideways again, slashing now at his face, now at his legs, now at his arm. His blows came more slowly as his axe grew heavier. Brienne turned him so the rain was in his eyes, and stepped back two quick steps. He wrenched his axe up once more, cursing, and lurched after her, one foot sliding in the mud . . .
. . . and she leapt to meet his rush, both hands on her sword hilt. His headlong charge brought him right onto her point, and Oathkeeper punched through cloth and mail and leather and more cloth, deep into his bowels and out his back, rasping as it scraped along his spine. His axe fell from limp fingers, and the two of them slammed together, Brienne’s face mashed up against the dog’s head helm. She felt the cold wet metal against her cheek. Rain ran down the steel in rivers, and when the lightning flashed again she saw pain and fear and rank disbelief through the eye slits. “Sapphires,” she whispered at him, as she gave her blade a hard twist that made him shudder. His weight sagged heavily against her, and all at once it was a corpse that she embraced, there in the black rain. She stepped back and let him fall . . .
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...然后尖牙嚎叫着撞上她。
他落到布蕾妮身上，犹如湿羊毛和奶白肉块组成的雪崩，撞得她双脚离地，再狠狠地砸进地里。她落进一滩烂泥，四溅的泥浆灌进鼻孔，再刺入双眼。体内的空气被全数挤出，伴着一声裂响，布蕾妮的头撞上某块半埋在土里的石头。“不，”她只来得及喊出这一个字，便被尖牙压在身下，被他的体重闷进更深的泥土中。尖牙一手抓进她的头发，将头向后猛扯。另一只手探向她喉咙。守誓者早已不见，被人从她手里夺去。她只能靠双手将尖牙其搏走，但一拳砸在他脸上的感觉却像是打在潮湿的白色面团上。尖牙冲她放声嘶叫。
她一下，一下，再一下地猛击尖牙，将手肘砸进他一只眼，尖牙混若不觉。布蕾妮又用手抠抓他手腕，但尖牙只将双手勒得更紧，全然不顾从被抓的伤口中流出的鲜血。他在挤压她，让她窒息。布蕾妮拼命将他的肩膀推离自己，想从擒抱中脱身，但他重得像匹马，根本推不动。她又试图用膝盖顶他下阴，却发现能够着的只是他的肚子。尖牙咕隆着扯下一把头发。
我的匕首。布蕾妮绝望地抓住这个想法。她将手伸进二人中间，五指在他酸臭得让人窒息的血肉间蠕动，摸索，直到触碰到刀柄。尖牙用双手扼住她脖子，将她的头往地上猛砸。闪电又一次炸响，这一次是在布蕾妮头脑里，然而她手指已然紧握，将匕首拔出鞘来。被他压在身下，布蕾妮无法举刀去刺，于是她将匕首狠捅进对方肚子，再横拉过腹。某种温热湿润的东西从她指间流过。尖牙再次嘶吼，声音比之前更大，他放开布蕾妮的喉咙，旋即一拳揍在她脸上。布蕾妮听见骨头碎裂的声音，剧痛立时让她盲目。当她试图再划他一刀时，却被尖牙从手中一把夺过匕首，用膝盖砸上她前臂，将其打折。之后尖牙再次抓住她的头部，继续尝试将其从她双肩上扯下来。
布蕾妮听见狗在叫，还有人在她周围大喊，在电闪雷鸣的间隙，还能听见刀剑相碰的声音。海尔爵士，她想到，海尔爵士也加入了战斗，但那一切似乎都过于遥远，无足轻重。她的世界里只有扼住喉咙的双手，和那张笼罩在上方的脸孔。那张脸贴得更近了，雨水从他斗篷上冲过。他呼出的气息就像腐败的奶酪。
布蕾妮的肺在灼烧，双眼后方仿佛有风暴在肆虐，搅得她什么都看不见。浑身上下的骨头都在彼此挤压。尖牙的嘴豁然张开，大得让人难以相信。布蕾妮能看见他的牙齿，暗黄，扭曲，尖利。她几乎感觉不到它们咬在自己脸颊的软肉上。她只感觉到自己盘旋着坠入黑暗。我还不能死，她告诉自己，还有件事要完成。
尖牙的嘴满含血肉，扯离她脸颊。他将其吐出，咧嘴一笑，然后将尖利的牙齿再次没入她的脸。这一次他开始咀嚼，吞咽。他在吞吃我，布蕾妮突然意识到，但她再也没有一丝力气去拼斗了。她觉得仿佛漂浮在自己之上，看着下方恐怖的一幕，似乎那发生在别的女人身上，某个自以为是骑士的蠢姑娘。很快就会结束的，她告诉自己。然后他是否在吞吃我就不再重要了。尖牙将头后仰，再次张开大嘴，开始嚎叫，对她伸出舌头。舌头十分尖利，往下淌着血，比任何正常人的都要长。舌头从他嘴里滑出，向外，向外，再向外，猩红，潮湿，泛着光，组成一幅丑陋污秽的画面。他的舌头足有一尺长，布蕾妮想，然后黑暗吞没了她。嗯，看上去几乎像把长剑。
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. . . and Biter crashed into her, shrieking.
He fell on her like an avalanche of wet wool and milk-white flesh, lifting her off her feet and slamming her down into the ground. She landed in a puddle with a splash that sent water up her nose and into her eyes. All the air was driven out of her, and her head snapped down against some half-buried stone with a crack. “No,” was all that she had time to say before he fell on top of her, his weight driving her deeper into the mud. One of his hands was in her hair, pulling her head back. The other groped for her throat. Oathkeeper was gone, torn from her grasp. She had only her hands to fight him off, but when she slammed a fist into his face it was like punching a ball of wet white dough. He hissed at her.
She hit him again, again, again, smashing the heel of her hand into his eye, but he did not seem to feel her blows. She clawed at his wrists, but his grip just grew tighter, though blood ran from the gouges where she scratched him. He was crushing her, smothering her. She pushed at his shoulders to get him off her, but he was heavy as a horse, impossible to move. When she tried to knee him in the groin, all she did was drive her knee into his belly. Grunting, Biter tore out a handful of her hair.
My dagger. Brienne clutched at the thought, desperate. She worked her hand down between them, fingers squirming under his sour, suffocating flesh, searching until they finally found the hilt. Biter locked both his hands about her neck and began to slam her head against the ground. The lightning flashed again, this time inside her skull, yet somehow her fingers tightened, pulled the dagger from its sheath. With him on top of her, she could not raise the blade to stab, so she drew it hard across his belly. Something warm and wet gushed between her fingers. Biter hissed again, louder than before, and let go of her throat just long enough to smash her in the face. She heard bones crack, and the pain blinded her for an instant. When she tried to slash at him again, he wrenched the dagger from her fingers and slammed a knee down onto her forearm, breaking it. Then he seized her head again and resumed trying to tear it off her shoulders.
Brienne could hear Dog barking, and men were shouting all about her, and between the claps of thunder she heard the clash of steel on steel. Ser Hyle, she thought, Ser Hyle has joined the fight, but all that seemed far away and unimportant. Her world was no larger than the hands at her throat and the face that loomed above her. The rain ran off his hood as he leaned closer. His breath stank like cheese gone rotten.
Brienne’s chest was burning, and the storm was behind her eyes, blinding her. Bones ground against each other inside of her. Biter’s mouth gaped open, impossibly wide. She saw his teeth, yellow and crooked, filed into points. When they closed on the soft meat of her cheek, she hardly felt it. She could feel herself spiraling down into the dark. I cannot die yet, she told herself, there is something I still need to do.
Biter’s mouth tore free, full of blood and flesh. He spat, grinned, and sank his pointed teeth into her flesh again. This time he chewed and swallowed. He is eating me, she realized, but she had no strength left to fight him any longer. She felt as if she were floating above herself, watching the horror as if it were happening to some other woman, to some stupid girl who thought she was a knight. It will be finished soon, she told herself. Then it will not matter if he eats me. Biter threw back his head and opened his mouth again, howling, and stuck his tongue out at her. It was sharply pointed, dripping blood, longer than any tongue should be. Sliding from his mouth, out and out and out, red and wet and glistening, it made a hideous sight, obscene. His tongue is a foot long, Brienne thought, just before the darkness took her. Why, it looks almost like a sword.
