Star Wars_ The Approaching Storm - Alan Dean Foster [67]
Black shapes numbering in the tens of millions pelted past at high speed. In the crush of small bodies, it was impossible to make out individuals. The swarm was a cyclonic mass of wings, eyes, and gaping mouths. Something struck her right ankle and, Jedi restraint or not, she jumped slightly. Reaching down, Obi-Wan gently picked up the fluttering, hopping creature in both hands. Wings and body broken, it twitched for another minute before lying still against his palms.
Almost jet black, it had four membranous wings: two that spanned the Jedi’s cupping hands and emerged from extended ribs, and two half the size that sprouted from its back. No wonder it could stay aloft for so long, Luminara reflected. If necessary, it could glide on the lower wings while being propelled forward by the top pair. A bright yellow splotch decorated each wing, perhaps an aid in identifying itself to its brethren while all were airborne. Instead of legs, it boasted a pair of thick, furry tufts that ran the length of its underside, like runners on a sled. Spending most of its time aloft, it evidently had little need for pedestrian locomotion.
The kyren’s method of mass feeding was made clear by its mouth—a wide gape lined top and bottom with twin ridges of horn. The flock hurtled along, those flying low clipping the nourishing crests of grain without stopping, the sharp lower ridges of horn acting like tiny airborne scythes. As soon as they were sated, those soaring along near the underside of the flock would change places with their hungry brethren flying above or behind them. Riding in the middle or the top of the swarm, those that had eaten would digest their meals while still aloft. The cloud of kyren would remain in constant motion not only on its chosen forward path, but within itself as well.
Another appeared, flopping and fluttering its way helplessly along the ground. Stink aside, they really were rather cute, sad little creatures. Leaning forward slightly, Luminara looked to her right, past Obi-Wan.
“Barriss! Are you all right? Can you hear me?”
Her call was lost in the wail of wings. Nothing could be seen through the solid, continuous torrent of fliers; nothing could be heard above their ear-splitting screeching. Barriss, she remembered, was with Bulgan. It was not so much that Luminara was worried about her apprentice. Barriss had already proven on this mission that she could take care of herself. And the familiar slight disturbance in the Force indicated that her living presence was still strong. It was just that a glimpse of her familiar form would have been reassuring.
They sat scrunched up against the jijite pillar for what seemed like the entire morning, but in reality was less than an hour. The suubatars huddled against one another for comfort and protection, their long narrow heads resting plaintively on the ground. Kyren shot past on either side or overhead, too intent on maintaining their flight paths to swerve even slightly to left or right to nip at the grass that was bent beneath the weight of resting suubatar jaws.
The stone column that was the only protection for human and steed alike continued to shudder beneath the impact of hundreds of suicidal bodies. With the airspace on all sides of them occupied, hemmed in above by tens of thousands of their brethren, the kyren that slammed into the pillar were compelled to sacrifice themselves out of instinct, and not a desire to commit mass suicide. They did not perish willingly: they simply had nowhere else to go. The sky was full.
After a while, the sound of bodies hitting the stone column began to fade, even though the blizzard of black shapes continued to thunder past unabated. Eventually, even that sound began to dissipate. Soon only thousands of kyren