it was only a joke oor Kornies

it was only a joke

Vertalings in die woordeboek Engels - Kornies

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voorbeelde

it was only a joke
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I wish - I mean, I hoped until this evening that it was only a joke,’ said Frodo. ‘But I knew in my heart that he really meant to go. He always used to joke about serious things. I wish I had come back sooner, just to see him off.’
‘My a vynn – wel, yth esa govenek dhymm henna dhe vos namoy es ges bys y’n gorthugher ma,’ yn medh Frodo. ‘Mes my a wodhva y’m kolonn bos hwans gwir dhodho mos. Pup-prys ev a wre ges yn kever traow sad. My a vynn may tehwelsen vy a-varra, rag leverel duw genes.’

Why was that? Just as many girls had been bitten – maybe more. Some had gone down with a fever but never real bad. No, not real bad. In a day or two, there was no more fever, no more symptoms at all. But the guys? Well, every one that had been bitten was now gone – except David. And finally, he, too, stood on the threshold of his next existence (if ‘existence’ was an apt word for what the others had become.) He moaned a little. I poured a little water on his lips. Mopped his brow. He relaxed and settled again. “Not long to go now, Mate,” I said, knowing he could not hear me. “But I’m still here. I won’t leave you.” I knew I would not leave him. Not ever. It was inconceivable. How had it come to this: a bunch of starving, scared kids holed up in a university library, surrounded by a mob of creatures that loitered noisily outside, wishing for nothing but to devour them? There had been no warning, no warning at all. This is how it was for us: David and I were sitting in a French lecture, ground floor, Redmond Barry Building, taking in lots about “Les philosophes”, when bang! In burst eight, ten, maybe a dozen of them, roaring and tearing, roaring and tearing. We thought it was a joke at first, some sort of student prank for ‘Prosh Week’. Only it wasn’t Prosh Week. And then one of the things seized the lecturer and tore her throat clean out, and when her arterial blood squirted some feet in the air, David and I knew it was no prank. The screaming started. Shrill, panicked screaming. The students were mainly female – David and I were very definitely in the minority. (We had liked it that way.) The creatures then hurled themselves at those in the auditorium – at those in the front rows, the most studious – and started tearing at them. More blood, much more blood, shredded clothing and flesh.
Praga? Y fia an mowesow brethys keniver ha polatys – moy martesen. Nebes anedha re wodhevsa terthenn mes nevra terthenn sevur. Na, terthenn sevur vyth. Wosa unn jydh po dew, nyns esa na fella terthenn ynna, an mowesow. Nyns esa sinys vyth. Mes an polatys? Wel, pubonan re via brethys o lemmyn gyllys – a-der Davydh. Ha, wor’tiwedh, y sevi ev war dreudhow an nessa bosva (mars o ‘bosva’ an ger gwiw rag studh a’n re erell na). Ev a gynas nebes. My a dhinewis tamm dowr war y dhiweus - ha sygha y dal. Ev a omdhiskwithas unnweyth arta. “Ny drig hirneth ragos lemmyn, ‘Vata,” yn-medhav vy, ow kodhvos na ylli ow klywes. “Mes yth esov vy hwath omma. Ny vynnav dha asa.” My a wodhya na yllyn y asa. Na nevra. Andhismygadow o hemma. Fatell hwarsa hemma? Bagas yonkers ownek, owth omgudha y’n lyverva pennskol, kyrghynnys gans rout kroaduryon a growdra yn trosek yn-mes, ow hwilas travyth saw aga devorya. Ny via gwarnyans vyth. Gwarnyans vyth. Hemm yw dell hwarva genen: Yth esa Davydh ha my a’gan esedh yn areth frynkek, leur a-woeles, Drehevyans Redmond Barry, ow klywes yn kever “An Philosophes”. Ena, frapp! Yth esa eth anedha, deg, dewdhek martesen, ow tardha y’n arethva, ow pedhygla hag ow skwardya, ow pedhygla hag ow skwardya ... Y’n kynsa le, ni a grysis y vos neb eghenn a ges-studyer a-barth an ‘Seythun Prosh’. Mes nyns o. Hag, ena, onan a’n draow na a settyas dalghenn war an arethores – ha skwardya yn-mes hy bryansenn. Hy goes arteriek a stifas nebes pellder y’n ayr – hag ytho Davydh ha my a wodhya nag esa hemma ges vyth. Y tallathas an skrijians. Skrijians gluw ha kruthys. Rann vrassa an studhyoryon o myrghes. Yth esa yn hwir Davydh ha my y’n rann vyghanna. (Ni re’n garsa yndella.) Ena, an groaduryon a omdhegesas orth an re esa y’n arethva – orth an re y’n esedhow a-rag, an moyha studhyus – ha dalleth skwardya orta. Yth esa moy goes, moy goes dres eghenn, dillas ha kig denel skethennek.