"Those furry elbow ornaments on the females," I said to Split, "they're for protection. The caves they live in must be narrow, so they pad their elbows."
"Why don't they pad their shoulders? They don't have anything on their shoulders."
"Are you complaining?"
We became fascinated in watching, from the seclusion of our ship. If we were to walk out, or make any sounds, we might have interrupted their meeting. Here they were in their native ritual of sunset, not knowing that people from another world watched. The tall leader must be making a speech. They sat around him in little huddles. He moved his arms in calm, graceful gestures.
"They'd better break it up!" Split said suddenly. "The jungles are moving in on them."
"They're spellbound," I said. "They're used to sponge-trees. Didn't you ever see moving trees?"
Split said sharply, "Those trees are marching! They're an army under cover. Look!"
I saw, then. The whole line of advancing vegetation was camouflage for a sneak attack. And all those natives sitting around in meeting were as innocent as a flock of sitting ducks. Split Campbell's voice was edged with alarm. "Captain! Those worshippers—how can we warn them? Oh-oh! Too late. Look!"
All at once the advancing sponge-trees were tossed back over the heads of the savage band concealed within. They were warriors—fifty or more of them—with painted naked bodies. They dashed forward in a wide semicircle, swinging crude weapons, bent on slaughter.