ki byghan oor Engels

ki byghan

Vertalings in die woordeboek Kornies - Engels

doggy

adjective noun

small dog

voorbeelde

Ki byghan yw.
It is a little dog.

Nyns yw saw ki byghan!
It’s only a little dog!

Ki byghan yw.
It is a small dog.

small dog / ki byghan / / /
doggy

Ki byghan yw an gwettha.
Little dogs are the worst.

Ki byghan yw.
It's a small dog.

Ki byghan yw.
It's a little dog.

Nyns yw saw ki byghan! / Nyns yw marnas ki...
It’s only a little dog! /

FO Yth esen ow kogoska y’n vedhegva. Hanternos o – po ogas. Yn mes, war blen an gerdhva, yth esa ow hwarvos tervans meur. Sonyow dornow ow frappya fismens, ha botas war rannow erell an korf, a allsa bos klywyes yn kler. Yth esa soudoryon ow skrija hag owth arma – Ostralek ha Yanki – yth esa braslavarow skruthus ha’n gelwans a henwyn drog. Yth esa re erell owth assaya yn euver rag konstrynya an freudh: arghadyow disobayes, hwibanans an withysi-gres vreselek. Yn skon, an selva dhien re dhothya dhe blen an gerdhva mayth esa kansow soudoryon yn omladh settyes nerthek dres eghenn. A-dhesempis, ughhewoel en vy – adrenalyn a yll gul henna. Wostalleth, my a brederis yn sempel: “Pyth a hwer?” Byttegyns, my a erviras yn skon bos froeth martesen dhe’n has plansyes genev yn brysyow an soudoryon Amerikanek. Has dout. Has omdowl. Yth esa yonkers, polatys onest, ow shyndya an eyl ha’n y gila war blen an gerdhva. Martesen, nyns en den mar jentyl, wosa oll. Mes, yn neb kas, res o dhymm devnydhya an tervans sordhyes genev rag gul ow diank. Meur ow skruth, my a wrug diswul an kolmansow re’m dalghennsa dhe’n gweli – yn hwir, y hallsen aga diswul kyns mes my re via mar glav ma na wrug assaya hogen. My a swaysas ow diwesker rag gorra ow dewdroes war an leur, an kynsa prys wosa nebes dydhyow. Yth assayis sevel. Kawgh! Pur wann en vy hwath drefenn an torment hag ytho y tasgoedhis, heb anall, war an gweli. Pyth a allsen gul? Ny dalvien gasa an deray ma dhe dremena. Res o dhymm sesya gwayn dhiworto. Ny dhothya arta an chons owrek ma. Y hyllyn klywes levow ughel ow tos dhiworth yn-mes, levow Ostralek, ow leverel taklow kepar ha: “Gwra ladha an aspier euthyk na! Kav an aspier-zombi! Ladh an ki byghan.” (Ha lavarow erell kepar ha’n re na.)
FLIGHT I was dozing in the infirmary. It was around midnight. Outside, on the parade ground, there was a heck of a commotion going on. The sounds of fist upon face and boot upon other body parts could be clearly heard. There were soldiers screaming and yelling, Aussies and Yanks – name-calling and dire threats. Others vainly trying to contain the brawling. Orders disobeyed. Whistles of MP’s. Soon, the whole camp had turned out onto the parade ground and there were hundreds of troops fighting an extremely vigorous pitched battle. Suddenly, I was wide awake – adrenalin does that. At first, I simply thought: “What is going on?” But then I guessed that the seeds I had planted in the minds of the Doughboys might now be bearing fruit. Seeds of doubt. Seeds of conflict. Young men, decent guys, were both injuring and being injured out there, on the parade ground. Maybe, I wasn’t such a nice person, after all. But, nice person or not, I needed to use the commotion that I had triggered to make my escape. In a panic, I undid the bindings which had been holding me to the bed – actually, I could have done this at any time but had been too ill to even bother trying. I swung my legs off the bed and put my feet on the floor for the first time in some days. I tried to stand. Shit! I was still very weak from the torture and flopped back, breathless, onto the bed. What to do? I couldn’t let this confusion pass without trying to take advantage. This golden opportunity would not come again. From outside, I could hear raised voices, Australian voices, saying things like: “Kill the fuckin’ spy! Get the zombie spy! Kill the little mongrel.” (And so on, like that.)