Food! That must be his only thought from now on. Somehow he knew that it would not be too long before the time of darkness.
He looked closely at the moist black soil that his bare feet were pressing into, searching for tracks. There must be a kabarra nearby; they were not uncommon.
With a steady purpose he pressed further into the undergrowth, heedless of the thorns that struck across his exposed flesh. He was dressed only in a loincloth that covered the lower third of his torso; a brown, tightly muscled physique that clearly displayed visible ridges of hard strength.
As he walked slowly and carefully through the dense undergrowth his ears were on alert for the high-pitched chattering that indicated the presence of a kabarra troupe.
Nothing as yet – he felt a little spasm of worry. He must eat soon!
He looked up into the crimson sky which was visible only in segments through the canopy of the akaro trees: already purple bands were beginning to appear in it; a sure sign of the approach of the time of darkness.
Then he stopped and his whole body froze into a powerful rigidity: he heard them – a distant chattering coming from directly ahead. He was near to a troupe.
Instantly he lowered himself so he was as close to the moist ground as he could get and, gripping the throwing stick in the business position, he crept stealthily forward.
No big cat could have moved more noiselessly, more unobtrusively, as did Jon that day as he zeroed in on his unseen quarry. Then the undergrowth suddenly terminated and there, in a little clearing with the red light slanting down onto them in a cascade of crimson, were the kabarras; an entire family of them – adults of all three sexes and a gang of infants happily tumbling over each other in a mad melee of innocent play.
Jon knew he could not advance further into the clearing without alerting the family group to his presence. As misfortune would have it, the creatures were at the far end of the space at the limit of his throwing range. He could not aim for the infants because they were moving far too fast as they fell over and under their playmates in their dizzying games. It would have to be one of the adults. A pity – they were far tougher on the teeth.
Knowing he had one chance and one only, he drew back his stick and threw. It seemed to take an eternity to cross the distance between Jon and the creatures; he almost believed he could walk leisurely alongside it as it crawled across the intervening space.
But it hit one of the adults squarely in the neck. It gave a pitiful squeak and collapsed. The infants stopped their play and rushed up to it, nuzzling it as they gave little whimpering sounds. The display of grief ended abruptly as their keen ears detected Jon’s approach and, as one, the infants and the remaining adults swung round to face him, emerald eyes flashing, emerald teeth gleaming.
At first Jon thought they were going to rush him but then their natural cowardice took hold and with one last squeal of defiance they disappeared into the undergrowth. Jon was left to examine the dead kabarra at his leisure. He held it up by its tail at arm’s length to make sure it was really deceased: kabarra teeth are not only green but very sharp.
It took him only a moment to realise that his kill was of the onari sex, not the more desirable male or female. Just his luck! Onaris are notoriously tough and stringy.
Sitting down on the springy black vegetation he gave the creature a minute examination to check for any sign of disease or external parasites. Fortunately, there were none but as he studied the animal he wondered for the first time why the middle set of legs was so vestigial. What was the point of having six legs if two of them didn’t even reach the ground?
It was a puzzle beyond his ability or interest, Jon rapidly decided. He was not responsible for designing the things, only for eating them. And to that end he took the kabarra in both hands and with a sudden jerk of his muscular arms broke it in two. The creature’s insides were homogenous; a solid mass of brownish material with the consistency of a particularly well-set jelly. Using his fingers Jon scooped out a handful of the tough but very delicious stuff and spend the next time period thoroughly cleaning out the creature until all that was left was the head and an empty skin which he threw away into the undergrowth where tiny six-legged things suddenly appeared, from apparently nowhere, and began devouring it.
Finally, he stood up, feeling immensely stronger and more optimistic with a full belly. Some of that optimism left him however, as he caught a glimpse of the sky above him which was no longer obscured by overarching trees. In the clearing, the sky was beautifully framed in a circular colonnade of mighty trunks which gave it the appearance of a glowing dome. But that dome was now criss-crossed with ominous bars of purple which now took up over half the apparent area: the time of darkness was upon him.
Jon was angry with himself – he had spent too long devouring every morsel of the kabarra; he should have just contented himself with the softer part and not indulged himself. Now he was in danger!
He had to get off the ground into the comparative safety of the akaro canopy but that would be difficult for their trunks are very smooth and slippery with the canopy only appearing at a daunting elevation.
He must do it!
He looked around at the mighty colonnade of trees, searching for some way up, some way off this ground which would soon become a fatal arena of death. Then he saw his escape route – an old akaro had partly fallen and was resting against the side of a healthy neighbour. He could use the slope of the fallen trunk to get some way up the tree before he needed to start climbing.
Quickly now, quickly!
Stowing his throwing stick into a fold of his loin cloth he sprinted for the fallen tree trunk. Even as he did so the whole forest shuddered to the sound of a deep, powerful roar that sent the needle-like leaves of the akaros trembling, as if with well-merited fear.
Jon did not bother trying to clamber up the sloping trunk but ran up it, his bare feet somehow gripping its smooth surface. Then he leapt off the fallen bole as it met the still living tree and grasping both sides of that trunk began to inch himself up. Akaros get less smooth as one ascends but the lower part was hideously slippery. Time and again Jon though he was safe only to find himself sliding down again to the doom that awaited him on the forest floor.
There was another roar – louder, nearer, more terrifying. Still he clung to the mirror-like bark, trying to ascend. He calmed his raging mind: panic was not helping. He must abandon his wild efforts to ascend and think his approach through – or pay the price.
Desperately trying not to slide back down to where he had started he finally noticed that a patch of the trunk some distance above him and to the right was rougher than the rest. He must not rush; that would only send him sliding downwards again, but carefully – oh so carefully! – he must slowly ascend until his hands could reach that patch.
He pressed his feet onto the bark, trying to use his toenails to get more purchase, and, trying not to think about how long all this was taking, he gradually, gingerly, approached the area of bark that would save him.
He reached it and found that he could ascend more than the distance he had already travelled in a fraction of the time. Soon he had reached the first branch; a mighty structure that crossed a good third of the width of the clearing. Utterly drained, he lay full length on the branch, his arms hanging down either side of it and his face flat against its smooth surface. As he did so the entire sky went purple and an instant later jet black. The time of darkness fell like a great ebon cloak over the forest and all the chattering tree denizens became instantly silent. Jon lay there, not moving, not caring.
Time passed in the dark, featureless silence. Nothing happened. Nothing moved.