Bran watched from his window seat. Wherever the boy went, Grey Wind was there first, loping ahead to cut him off, until Rickon saw him, screamed in delight,  布兰从窗台上看着这一切。不论小男孩跑到哪里，灰风总是抢先一步，跨步截断他的路，瑞肯看到他，兴奋地尖叫，

　　and went pelting off in another direction.  然后又朝另一个方向奔去。

　　Shaggydog ran at his heels, spinning and snapping if the other wolves came too close.  毛毛狗和他寸步不离，若是其他狼靠得太近就转身咆哮。

　　His fur had darkened until he was all black, and his eyes were green fire. Bran's Summer came last.  它的毛色已经变深，如今通体漆黑，眼睛如一团绿火。布兰的夏天落在最后。

　　He was silver and smoke, with eyes of yellow gold that saw all there was to see. Smaller than Grey Wind, and more wary.  他的毛色乃是银白和烟灰相间，金黄的眼睛异常敏锐。它的块头比灰风稍小，却更机警。

　　Bran thought he was the smartest of the litter. He could hear his brother's breathless laughter as Rickon dashed across the hard-packed earth on little baby legs. 布兰私下认为它是狼群里最聪明的一只。看着瑞肯鼓动那双娃娃腿，在硬泥地上来回奔跑，布兰可以听见弟弟气喘吁吁的笑声。

　　His eyes stung. He wanted to be down there, laughing and running. Angry at the thought, Bran knuckled away the tears before they could fall.  他只觉眼睛刺痛。他好想下去，好想笑闹跑跳。布兰越想越气，赶紧在眼泪掉下以前用指节抹掉。

　　His eighth name day had come and gone.  他的八岁命名日来了又去。

　　He was almost a man grown now, too old to cry. 他已经接近成年，不能再哭了。

　　It was just a lie, he said bitterly, remembering the crow from his dream. I can't fly. I can't even run. 都是骗人的，他苦涩地说，想起了梦中的乌鸦。我不会飞，连跑都没办法。

　　Crows are all liars, Old Nan agreed, from the chair where she sat doing her needlework. I know a story about a crow. 乌鸦本来就很会说谎。坐在椅子上做针线活的老奶妈附议。我知道一个乌鸦的故事。

　　I don't want any more stories, Bran snapped, his voice petulant. He had liked Old Nan and her stories once. Before. But it was different now.  我不要听故事，布兰语气暴躁地斥道。他曾经很喜欢老奶妈和她说的那些故事。但那都是过去的事，现在情形不一样了。

　　They left her with him all day now, to watch over him and clean him and keep him from being lonely, but she just made it worse. I hate your stupid stories. 他们要她整天陪着他，让她照顾他，为他洗澡，以免他寂寞孤单，但她的存在却只让事情更糟。我恨你那些蠢故事。