Star Wars_ The Approaching Storm - Alan Dean Foster [65]
Lowering his hands, the guide looked back at her. “No one knows. No one has ever been able to stay in one place long enough to count an average flock.” He gestured toward the now rapidly darkening northern horizon. “I think this flock may be a little larger than average.”
“Take a guess.” The fingers of Anakin’s right hand continued to hover in the vicinity of his lightsaber. “How many of these things are we likely to be facing?”
Turning in his saddle, Bulgan considered the horizon anew. “Not a conspicuously great number. But enough to pose a serious danger if we don’t find cover quickly. No more than one or two hundred million, I would say.”
Anakin’s hand moved away from his lightsaber. “ ‘Hundred million’? ‘One or two’?” The only shelter in sight was a trio of wolgiyn trees standing forlorn and isolated off to their right. They did not cast much of a shadow.
“This way!” Pointing forward and to his left, Kyakhta urged his mount in that same direction. The two Jedi Knights followed, with the Padawans bringing up the rear.
Barriss tried her best to conceal her unease. Instead of fleeing, they were riding straight into the oncoming adumbration. On a collision course, kyren flock and speeding travelers drew rapidly toward one another. Though she had never seen a kyren in her life, she trusted that Kyakhta had seen something more substantial than a mirage, and more solid than faint hope.
Several minutes of hard riding later, it was still impossible to make out individual kyren, but their collective screeching had come to dominate all other sounds on the prairie. Usually frightened of nothing, a pack of shanhs went racing past in the opposite direction. The fearsome carnivores were absolutely terrified. Terrified of something that cracked grass seed for breakfast, Luminara reflected. A small, lightweight, winged herbivore she could hold in the palm of one hand. The sight of the fleeing shanhs was anything but reassuring. As she had been instructed, she urged her suubatar faster, not wanting to fall behind. There were some instruments of nature even a Master of the Force could not stand against. One kyren, without question. A dozen, surely. A few hundred, perhaps. A few thousand? Questionable.
A hundred million of anything was too vast a number for even several Jedi to stand against. Even if the adversaries in question were nothing more than small, soft-bodied, seed-eating fliers.
By the time she finally saw where Kyakhta was leading them, the collective cries of the millions upon millions of kyren were a steady stabbing in her ears. They blocked out the sun, creating their own eclipse, and their stench threatened to overwhelm her inundated sense of smell and send her reeling. Grimly, she clung to the reins of her mount and kept her feet jammed resolutely into the forward-facing stirrups. With one hand she pulled a bit of robe across her face to shut out a little of the dust and smell.
“There, that way!” Peering into the gathering darkness, she barely managed to hear Kyakhta’s cry, and see where he was leading them.
Looming out of the gloom just ahead and towering above the grass, a crazy conglomeration of tilted pillars and columns took shape. Ranging in hue from a light tan to dark umber, more than anything else they resembled alien tombstones set in the middle of the open plain. The analogy was not encouraging. Roughly triangular in shape, each rose to a sharp point. Not all were perfectly vertical. Some thrust upward from the ground at marked angles, and several lay broken and shattered, having fallen over on their sides.
She later learned they were the mounds of the jijites, tiny creatures that lived in the soil and fed off the wide-ranging root systems of the numerous grasses. Constructed of tiny, even minuscule pebbles, they were bound together by a natural mortar extruded by specially designated jijite workers. Each pillar served to vent hot air from the living tunnels below the surface, cooling the jijites’ immediate environment. They were also lookout towers