• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

“Surepp,” Bulgan explained in response to her query concerning the herd. “Males are the blue ones with the darker neck ruffs and coiled antlers, females are green and slightly larger but without the ruffs.”

Sitting up straight in her saddle, she let her gaze rove over the impressive panorama. “I’ve never seen an animal with three eyes lined up vertically like that, instead of in the usual horizontal position.”

“Top eye keeps watch for flying predators, middle eye tracks fellow surepp, and the bottom eye monitors the ground for food and obstacles.” Bulgan shifted in his seat, the side of his face with the one good eye leaning, as always, slightly forward. “That way the surepp miss nothing.”

“I see. I suppose it makes sense for an animal that’s standing still, but they must have terrible peripheral vision.”

The guide nodded. “That is so, but they don’t need it. When you almost always have another surepp on either side of you plus others in front and back, you don’t have to see from side to side. Only up and down.”

“What about the ones who find themselves pushed to the edge of the herd?”

“They can turn their heads to see to the side, and use their sense of smell. They can still see from side to side, just not as well as a dorgum or awiquod. Because of their numbers, surepp are much harder for hunters like the shanh to take than dorgum or awiquod, which are more likely to graze slightly apart from one another.” He nudged his mount forward, and the suubatar broke into a slow walk. “That’s why the richer clans like the Borokii prefer them.”

“What are they good for?” Barriss asked from nearby.

“Everything. Meat, milk, hides, wool. Their teeth and antlers were once used to make tools. Nowadays, those kind of utensils are imported, so the bony material is used for expensive handicrafts.” He smiled. “I’m sure you’ll see examples of everything once we’re inside the camp.”

Up in the lead, Kyakhta raised his long-fingered prosthetic. “Riders are coming.”

Unsurprisingly, there were six of them, six by now being readily recognized by the travelers as a number of significance for all Ansionians. More richly attired than Yiwa or Qulun, their lightweight armor gleamed in the sun. Two of the pickets held poles of imported carbonite composite atop which the Borokii standard snapped briskly in the morning breeze. In addition to traditional long knives, two of them wore Malarian laser pistols. Clearly, at least some of what they had heard about the overclans was true, Luminara saw. The Borokii had wealth, and the acumen to know how to spend it.

Curiosity overcoming his natural reserve, the leader of the half a dozen riders impelled his equally impressively attired sadain forward, halting in front of the lead suubatars. The considerable difference in the heights of their respective mounts forced him to look up at the visitors. To his credit, he did not seem in the least intimidated. He was also, Luminara decided, openly friendly—at least on the surface. But then, she knew, the powerful can afford to be magnanimous.

“Greetings, offworlders and friends.” The Borokii briefly pressed one hand across his eyes and the other over his chest. “I am Bayaar of the Situng Borokii. Welcome to our camp. What do you wish of the overclan?”

While Obi-Wan explained their purpose, Luminara continued to study the pickets. Looking for any indication of hostile intent, she found only confidence and a professional readiness. Unlike the Yiwa, for example, these people were not suspicious or afraid of strangers. With thousands of fellow clanfolk to back them up, they didn’t have to be. That did not mean they were indifferent to potential threats, or lazy. While their leader listened courteously to Obi-Wan, the members of his troop sat imperiously in their saddles. But their eyes were always moving.

Bayaar did not have to retire to mull a response when Obi-Wan had finished. “This is not something to which I can speak. I am an outrider—a sentinel, and