Then, rippling in Boh's green glow, a tendril crept from the mass, slithering through the grass towards the djevodas.
Slowly ... slowly....
It touched a great foot ... curled about the ankle.
Still unaware, the djevoda started to turn.
The slime swirled about the foot—clinging, holding.
The djevoda's bellow went shrill with terror. Aware of the danger now, it lunged savagely.
The foot tore free.
But now panic was upon the giant sextuped. Roaring, it charged across the clear space, straight into the mass of circling grey.
Its fellows followed.