A Decent Land — Chapter Three
Prowl of the Maian Tiger
We awoke on the bank to the sound of a purr. It seemed to come from the trees. Indeed, there was nothing to see on the beach; and nowhere for creatures to hide. Instinctively — though none had seen a cat aboard our arks — we felt comforted by the noise, at first, and compelled to replenish a saucer with milk. The Shipbuilders of our dead home planet were familiar with feline companions. And so, I assume, their duty to kitten and kin lives on in our genes.
It was a guttural rumble, bouncing from the canopied darkness of jungle. But it died down as it sensed our movements, and fell to a practical silence. Some of the more aurally gifted among our party reported that it never fully disappeared, and always followed behind. Our strange waking wish — to wait upon the whims of a cat — soon spiralled into fear of unpredictable predators.
Reed seals suck the molluscs from unassuming shells, swelling into hedonistic blobs of fatty avarice. No risk to us; they’re laughable, in fact. But a dormant reed seal is a morsel for something. Perhaps our purring pursuant skulked the edge of the trees for its dinner, and found instead an exotic team of alien appetisers.
We attempted to pack our gathered shells and a portion of weed in the wormskin. Alas, our careless, drunken stabs at the sheath…
