mostly, but we get some grape vines . . .’
A little creature darted out from the tangle of a climber fig and ran across the open ground, evidently heading towards the water. It didn’t get very far before Nikos’s net slapped down around it.
The boy picked up the struggling little animal and, with brisk, confident movements, broke its neck. Then he fished out the prize from the net and held it up, dangling, before his father. The animal, maybe a foot long, looked like a miniature kangaroo to Agnes, with oversized hind legs. Oliver grinned back and gave him a thumb’s up.
It was like a cue for action. Agnes saw more animals emerging now, coming out one by one, clambering up the tree trunks and along the branches or on the ground, and even gliding through the air on membranous wing-like flaps of skin. And the nets flew. Most of the animals stayed out of reach, or scurried out of the way faster than the hunters could react, but a few fell to the nets and to the traps on the ground.
Soon a small pile of corpses built up before Agnes, and she stared at the strange forms. These were the local furballs, as the colonists called them, or a sample of them. Some were like distorted versions of creatures she was familiar with, like squirrels and opossums, and some were entirely different, as if dreamed up as special effects for some monster movie. She was struck by the detail, the striping of the fur, the staring open eyes: each creature exquisite, in its own way, even in death. At least the harvest the hunters were taking was light; the furballs were obviously so numerous that their wider communities would not be harmed.
Now a shaft of sunlight emerged from the mists to the east.
Oliver shaded his eyes and looked that way. ‘Sun’s fully up. Show’s over for now. The dawn’s always the best time to catch these critters. You can see they’re all tiny little guys, and not too graceful. That’s what you get if you’ve evolved to survive in a dense forest, I guess. And they all go for insects, rather than fruit or leaves. We think that’s because these trees are evergreens. They don’t discard their leaves, so make them poisonous or foul-tasting so they don’t get eaten.
‘All the furballs go hunting early, when the insects have started buzzing, but the cold-blooded creatures are still dopy from the chill of night: the lizards, the frogs, the toads. Hard to find a furball in the middle of the day.’ He glanced up at the canopy, towering above them. ‘We don’t know what else lives in the forest, I mean all the species. We only learn enough about their habits so we can trap them. And at night, you know, there’s a whole different suite of critters that come out in the dark. You can hear them hooting away. Nobody knows anything about them . Any-thing’s possible.’
‘And trolls,’ Lobsang/George said with a smile. ‘I heard them last night, and before. The call.’
‘Yeah. Nice to know they’re here, isn’t it? Now come on, you two, speaking of the big birds – Marina did promise you an Easter egg hunt. We’ll need to go into the forest, just a little way . . . Hey, Nikos. You found this nest, you want to lead?’
Entering the deeper forest wasn’t as bad as Agnes had feared. The biggest practical difficulty was just working out where to put her feet in the gloom. The ground was covered by a tangle of green, most but not all of it below knee height. She was glad to have Nikos lead the way, expert and silent, and to have Oliver and Lobsang to either side.
They came to a small clearing, and crouched down in the cover,peering out, waiting. On the ground, at the foot of a stout sequoia, Agnes saw a mass of twigs and earth whose function was obvious, even given its size – it must have been six feet across.
‘It’s a bird’s nest,’ Lobsang breathed.
‘Of some damn big bird,’ Agnes said. ‘No wonder they’re taking their time. Making sure the mother isn’t around.’
‘Absolutely,’ said
A little creature darted out from the tangle of a climber fig and ran across the open ground, evidently heading towards the water. It didn’t get very far before Nikos’s net slapped down around it.
The boy picked up the struggling little animal and, with brisk, confident movements, broke its neck. Then he fished out the prize from the net and held it up, dangling, before his father. The animal, maybe a foot long, looked like a miniature kangaroo to Agnes, with oversized hind legs. Oliver grinned back and gave him a thumb’s up.
It was like a cue for action. Agnes saw more animals emerging now, coming out one by one, clambering up the tree trunks and along the branches or on the ground, and even gliding through the air on membranous wing-like flaps of skin. And the nets flew. Most of the animals stayed out of reach, or scurried out of the way faster than the hunters could react, but a few fell to the nets and to the traps on the ground.
Soon a small pile of corpses built up before Agnes, and she stared at the strange forms. These were the local furballs, as the colonists called them, or a sample of them. Some were like distorted versions of creatures she was familiar with, like squirrels and opossums, and some were entirely different, as if dreamed up as special effects for some monster movie. She was struck by the detail, the striping of the fur, the staring open eyes: each creature exquisite, in its own way, even in death. At least the harvest the hunters were taking was light; the furballs were obviously so numerous that their wider communities would not be harmed.
Now a shaft of sunlight emerged from the mists to the east.
Oliver shaded his eyes and looked that way. ‘Sun’s fully up. Show’s over for now. The dawn’s always the best time to catch these critters. You can see they’re all tiny little guys, and not too graceful. That’s what you get if you’ve evolved to survive in a dense forest, I guess. And they all go for insects, rather than fruit or leaves. We think that’s because these trees are evergreens. They don’t discard their leaves, so make them poisonous or foul-tasting so they don’t get eaten.
‘All the furballs go hunting early, when the insects have started buzzing, but the cold-blooded creatures are still dopy from the chill of night: the lizards, the frogs, the toads. Hard to find a furball in the middle of the day.’ He glanced up at the canopy, towering above them. ‘We don’t know what else lives in the forest, I mean all the species. We only learn enough about their habits so we can trap them. And at night, you know, there’s a whole different suite of critters that come out in the dark. You can hear them hooting away. Nobody knows anything about them . Any-thing’s possible.’
‘And trolls,’ Lobsang/George said with a smile. ‘I heard them last night, and before. The call.’
‘Yeah. Nice to know they’re here, isn’t it? Now come on, you two, speaking of the big birds – Marina did promise you an Easter egg hunt. We’ll need to go into the forest, just a little way . . . Hey, Nikos. You found this nest, you want to lead?’
Entering the deeper forest wasn’t as bad as Agnes had feared. The biggest practical difficulty was just working out where to put her feet in the gloom. The ground was covered by a tangle of green, most but not all of it below knee height. She was glad to have Nikos lead the way, expert and silent, and to have Oliver and Lobsang to either side.
They came to a small clearing, and crouched down in the cover,peering out, waiting. On the ground, at the foot of a stout sequoia, Agnes saw a mass of twigs and earth whose function was obvious, even given its size – it must have been six feet across.
‘It’s a bird’s nest,’ Lobsang breathed.
‘Of some damn big bird,’ Agnes said. ‘No wonder they’re taking their time. Making sure the mother isn’t around.’
‘Absolutely,’ said
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