feel sick.
Then the whole monster was visible, striding across the mesa toward me. The great legs did not seem to be hurrying, but they ate distance relentlessly. Now I could see the tiny forelimbs, curled close to the chest, each bearing a single, gleaming curved claw. But mostly I saw the endless array of ivory daggers around the ghastly black maw.
Panic! My paralysis vanished. I turned again with a squeal of terror and raced down the next slope.
Why I did not break my neck is a great mystery, for the hill was steep. I traversed it in bounds almost as long as the tyrant’s strides, and I was looking over my shoulder most of the time. The ground thumped against my battered feet, every blow rattling me to my teeth—cactuses and rocks and slithery patches of gravel—but I ignored the pain. I knew I must get out of sight for a moment and change direction, but I seemed to have left it too late. The slope was steep, but not steep enough. The tyrant’s eyes were high enough to keep me in view, and it was still moving faster than I was, even though it was on the flat plateau.
Then mercifully it reached the gully and dropped swiftly out of sight. And I had reached the base of the main hill. A long gentle slope stretched down to a tangle of dead silvery trees in the center of the valley. Water gleamed there. How I needed that water! And the trees would provide cover…
Fortunately I retained just enough wit to remember my strategy. I was not going to reach that cover before the killer came over the ridge behind me. Water must wait, and I must change direction. I veered hard to the right, leaping and staggering and bounding over rough grass and low scrub, still twisting my head around to watch for my pursuer—and running right into a boulder. I cracked my knees with an excruciating blaze of pain. I toppled over, hit the ground, rolled, and stopped. The tyrant s head appeared in the sky.
That rock had saved me, for I had not been expecting the monster so soon. Had I still been running, it would have seen me and been able to hold me in view. I lay flat, with blood running from my shins and tears of pain or terror running from my eyes. I tried not to breathe. The tyrant reached the top of the slope, leaned back, and slid all the way down in a landslide of gravel and dirt, balanced on its great spread feet and massive tail. The impact of its landing shook the world.
It stopped and peered around the hollow: where is lunch?
Its size was unbelievable, four or five times what I had expected. At close range—much too close now—it was an iridescent silver, the short fur gleaming with rainbow lights. I recalled a vague memory of a trader once showing my father a length of tyrant fur, and my father’s derision at the price being asked.
The head stopped moving; the eyes and ears did not. They flickered this way and that, together or separately. I wished I could turn off my heart, for if the tyrant could not hear it, I could hear nothing else. Then the monster roared, filling the whole valley with bone-breaking noise and rolling echoes. I very nearly jumped to my feet and fled in terror at that unexpected explosion of sound. Which was the why of it, obviously.
More roars followed, but now I was ready for them. My neck trembled with the effort of holding my head in the awkward position it had happened to be in when the tyrant came over the skyline. I did not even blink. Give up! I thought. I have beaten you! Go away!
But I did not say that, and the tyrant did not believe that. It lurched into motion, heading down to the copse of withered trees, and the ground trembled with the impacts: Boom…boom…
Yet still I dared not move, for I could see that a tyrant, like a roo, had a third eye in the back of its head. Every animal or bird I had ever seen had three eyes, except people and horses, and I had always felt cheated by having only two. So I remained in my awkward sprawl, with gravel digging into my elbows and a steady agony of
Then the whole monster was visible, striding across the mesa toward me. The great legs did not seem to be hurrying, but they ate distance relentlessly. Now I could see the tiny forelimbs, curled close to the chest, each bearing a single, gleaming curved claw. But mostly I saw the endless array of ivory daggers around the ghastly black maw.
Panic! My paralysis vanished. I turned again with a squeal of terror and raced down the next slope.
Why I did not break my neck is a great mystery, for the hill was steep. I traversed it in bounds almost as long as the tyrant’s strides, and I was looking over my shoulder most of the time. The ground thumped against my battered feet, every blow rattling me to my teeth—cactuses and rocks and slithery patches of gravel—but I ignored the pain. I knew I must get out of sight for a moment and change direction, but I seemed to have left it too late. The slope was steep, but not steep enough. The tyrant’s eyes were high enough to keep me in view, and it was still moving faster than I was, even though it was on the flat plateau.
Then mercifully it reached the gully and dropped swiftly out of sight. And I had reached the base of the main hill. A long gentle slope stretched down to a tangle of dead silvery trees in the center of the valley. Water gleamed there. How I needed that water! And the trees would provide cover…
Fortunately I retained just enough wit to remember my strategy. I was not going to reach that cover before the killer came over the ridge behind me. Water must wait, and I must change direction. I veered hard to the right, leaping and staggering and bounding over rough grass and low scrub, still twisting my head around to watch for my pursuer—and running right into a boulder. I cracked my knees with an excruciating blaze of pain. I toppled over, hit the ground, rolled, and stopped. The tyrant s head appeared in the sky.
That rock had saved me, for I had not been expecting the monster so soon. Had I still been running, it would have seen me and been able to hold me in view. I lay flat, with blood running from my shins and tears of pain or terror running from my eyes. I tried not to breathe. The tyrant reached the top of the slope, leaned back, and slid all the way down in a landslide of gravel and dirt, balanced on its great spread feet and massive tail. The impact of its landing shook the world.
It stopped and peered around the hollow: where is lunch?
Its size was unbelievable, four or five times what I had expected. At close range—much too close now—it was an iridescent silver, the short fur gleaming with rainbow lights. I recalled a vague memory of a trader once showing my father a length of tyrant fur, and my father’s derision at the price being asked.
The head stopped moving; the eyes and ears did not. They flickered this way and that, together or separately. I wished I could turn off my heart, for if the tyrant could not hear it, I could hear nothing else. Then the monster roared, filling the whole valley with bone-breaking noise and rolling echoes. I very nearly jumped to my feet and fled in terror at that unexpected explosion of sound. Which was the why of it, obviously.
More roars followed, but now I was ready for them. My neck trembled with the effort of holding my head in the awkward position it had happened to be in when the tyrant came over the skyline. I did not even blink. Give up! I thought. I have beaten you! Go away!
But I did not say that, and the tyrant did not believe that. It lurched into motion, heading down to the copse of withered trees, and the ground trembled with the impacts: Boom…boom…
Yet still I dared not move, for I could see that a tyrant, like a roo, had a third eye in the back of its head. Every animal or bird I had ever seen had three eyes, except people and horses, and I had always felt cheated by having only two. So I remained in my awkward sprawl, with gravel digging into my elbows and a steady agony of
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