He wished Yerdeth were here; he'd show that fool what good his ten-to-the-billionth odds were.
And yet, in another way, Dodeth had the feeling that his parabrother was right. How could the life of the World have suddenly evolved such creatures? For they looked even more impossible when seen in the flesh.
Their locomotive limbs ended in lumpy protuberances that showed no sign of toes, and they were covered all over with a dull gray hide, except for the hands at the ends of their handling limbs and the necks and the faces of their oddly-shaped heads, where the skin ranged in color from a pinkish an to a definitive brown, depending on the individual. There was no hair anywhere on their bodies except on the top and back of their heads. No, wait—there were two long tufts above each eye. They—
"Do you see what they're eating?" Wygor's voice whispered.
Dodeth hadn't. He'd been too busy looking at the things themselves. But when he did notice, he made a noise like a throttled "Geep!"
Hurkles!
There were few enough of the animals—only a few small population was needed to keep the Balance, but they were important. And the swamps were drying up, and the quiggies were moving in on them, and now—
Dodeth made a hasty count. Twenty! By the Universal Motivator, these predators had eaten a hurkle apiece!
Overhead, the Yellow Sun, a distant dot of intensely bright light, shed its wan glow over the ghastly scene. Dodeth wished the Moon were out; its much brighter light would have shown him more detail.