“嘎——吱——”木城的门轴发出痛苦的呻吟，像条被拉扯到极限的老狗。风从门缝里灌进来，卷着雪沫子往里灌，打得门板砰砰响，跟敲鼓似的。门洞里那几个武士早就冻得鼻尖通红，牙齿咯咯打架，年纪大的那个又骂骂咧咧：“我说老三，你手脚放干净点，磨蹭个啥！再不加固，真能被这鬼风给掀了！”他口中的老三，正哆哆嗦嗦往门上钉木板，手冻得跟刚从冰窖里捞出来的似的，锤子都握不稳。

风声突然变了，呜呜咽咽的，像猫爪子挠墙，又像是无数怨魂在门外头鬼哭狼嚎。守城的武士们心里同时咯噔一下，那年纪大的吓得后退半步，压低声音吼道：“妈的！什么声音？别是自己人搞鬼！”话音未落，城墙拐角处扑面而来一股阴风，裹着腐臭味，刮得人脸上生疼。

darkness like a living thing slithered over the city, swallowing the last sliver of light. It was an oppressive darkness, thick and heavy, as if the sky had collapsed, spilling its contents onto the earth. The wind howled like a wolf, not a mournful cry, but a cruel, hungry sound that seemed to gnaw at the very essence of things. The trees twisted and turned, their branches like skeletal fingers clawing at the sky, and the snowflakes, no longer light and fluffy, fell like ice needles, sharp and unforgiving, piercing through the air with a chilling clatter.

黑暗像活物一样滑过城池，吞噬了最后一丝光线。