他躬着腰,低着头,蹑手蹑脚,向芦苇深处走去。除了轻微的风声,空气中四处都是翅膀的振动声,他熟悉这些声音,清脆,干净,温暖,像丝绸从指间滑过。他是这一带有名的猎手,空中的鸟儿,即使飞得再高,也难逃他百发百中的猎枪。子弹呼啸而出,天空中旋即有一团黑影应声而落,从无意外。他找到一块稍高一点的干地,蹲伏下来。望过去,不远处就是江滩,鸟儿们此刻都在那儿戏水,觅食,打盹儿,或者互相梳理羽 He bowed his head, bowed his head, stomp, walked to the depths of reeds. Except for the slight wind, the sound of the wings is everywhere in the air. He is familiar with these sounds, crisp, clean and warm, like silk sliding across the fingers. He is the famous hunter, the birds in the sky, even fly high, but also escape his one after another shotgun. Bullets roared out, there is a mass of dark shadow immediately in the sky and fell, from no accident. He found a slightly higher dry ground, crouched down. Looking in the past, not far from the river beach, where the birds are now playing in the water, feeding, nap, or comb each other feather