Star Wars_ The Approaching Storm - Alan Dean Foster [94]
And he had almost gone strolling blithely in among them, he realized in shock.
The lorqual were, at least insofar as the Gwurran knew, the biggest inhabitants of the plains. Though they stood only slightly taller at their two sets of shoulders than did the suubatar, the lorqual were far more massive. A single mature adult would weigh as much as four suubatars. Their strange, stiff, brown and beige fur stuck straight out from their sides, giving them a bristly appearance. Half a dozen solid, bony knobs protruded from each massive skull. In rutting season, the sound of adult bull lorqual smashing into each other head to head could be heard across vast sweeps of prairie. Each of six feet terminated in an equal number of powerful horn-shielded toes: three facing forward and three back, a design perfectly suited to supporting the creature’s great weight.
In contrast to their immense size, they had only two comparatively small eyes, one on either side of the blocky skull. But the single nostril opening was large enough for a Gwurran to hide within. Mounted on the end of a short, flexible snout that was constantly testing the air, it provided all necessary warning of possible danger.
Not that anything could really threaten a herd of lorqual, Tooqui knew. Even the young, once they were a couple of weeks old, were too big and powerful for anything less than a full pack of prowling shanhs to attack. Usually they were intolerant of intruders in their midst. But they ignored him. Huddled together as they were, he realized, they must be preoccupied with the impending squall. The rain that was falling would also serve to conceal his presence from them, masking his smell.
Lightning was flashing more frequently now, allowing him a better view of the herd. He judged it to be sizable, though it was impossible to gauge its full extent. He could not see over or around a single lorqual, much less the dozen or so immediately in front of him. These might constitute the entire herd, or there might be a dozen more animals lined up behind them, bony heads pressed against bristling flanks and hindmosts.
That was when he had the idea. It could as easily kill him as make him a hero. But after three days of hard scrambling through high grass, over rocky places, and down clammy mud holes, it was the first idea he’d had. That it might also be his last weighed heavily on him. It very likely might not even work.
Bending, he made a Gwurran gathering basket out of the driest grass he could find. It was something taught to every young member of the tribe, so he had no trouble performing the task in the dark, his nimble fingers weaving the grass stems together with the effortlessness of long practice. Advancing slowly and carefully through the falling rain so as not to disturb the highly sensitive lorqual, he began searching for something else. Even in the rain, it did not take long for him to find what he wanted: a basketful of stones, each somewhat rounded, and each of a size to fit comfortably in his long-fingered hand.
The easy part of his idea fulfilled, he now had no choice but to proceed to the much more difficult—and dangerous.
Still moving slowly and patiently, frequently wiping rainwater from his protuberant eyes, he tried to pick out one lorqual that looked a little drowsier than the others. In the darkness and rain, it was impossible. It might have been just as difficult in the daytime, he knew. One lorqual looked, and acted, pretty much like any other lorqual. If he kept dithering, though, he might abandon the idea entirely, and then where would he be?
With the nearest animal as likely a candidate as the next, he crept as close as he dared. Slipping the basket of stones over one arm, he grabbed hold of the lorqual’s wet bristles and pulled himself up off the ground. When the creature did not react, he began to climb. The closer he got to the top, the greater his confidence in his chances of reaching the monster