The Cagodot warrior tensed. His blue cranial plume came erect, warning the rest of the party that game had been sighted. The other blue-feathered warriors melted into the tall tan grasses, leaving the honor of the first run to the finder of the game. He, Tado, stood proudly erect, waving his plumed arms in the traditional patterns, in order to attract the beast's attention.
The zdin moved his horned and tusked head uneasily, as he sought with shortsighted eyes for the source of the scent which troubled him. When the form of the slight blue warrior came into his field of vision, he snorted, and his neck bristles rose threateningly. Then, ponderously, he began to move his great bulk toward the Cagodot, who stood unmoved as the huge beast thundered toward him.
Tado waited until the zdin was almost upon him before beginning his flight across the broad savannah. The beast veered after him, pounding along like a mountain gone mad. The Cagodot led his prey in an immense circle, returning almost to his starting place. There, one of his comrades took up the race, and Tado disappeared into the grass to rest.
In a small copse at the edge of the savannah waited the Blgat, their great orange-haired forms bending so well with the tawny grass and foliage that they were almost invisible, as they waited their move in the drama of the hunt. With the infinite patience of the primitive, they watched the marathon in the meadow, gripping their broad-bladed spears and blowing out their lips in puffs of anticipation. Once or twice, when it appeared that the fleeing Cagodot would be caught and trampled, their eyes blazed red with glee, for they never forgot their traditional hatred for the feathered ones, even during the great fall truce. It would be great sport to see an enemy smashed beneath those tremendous hooves. So long as enough Cagodot survived to run the zdin into exhaustion, their temporary hunting partners would have enjoyed seeing one of them die on every lap.
Grkh, the leader of the Blgat, grinned savagely at the thought of the impending battle with the zdin. His broad, four-fingered hand caressed the haft of his spear. His shrewd little eyes flickered after the relays of Cagodot, without the spark of hatred that was common to his kind. A little more intelligent and a great deal older than the others, he had seen enough of the feathered people, during his twenty hunts, to realize that they were a brave and resourceful race. He grunted, thinking of the Blgat who would have had to die in order to kill even one zdin, had the Cagodot not run him to the ragged edge of exhaustion first. No Blgat could ever move fast enough to do the work that Tado and his friends were doing, and the old chief was fully aware of the fact.
The zdin was slowing perceptibly now, and Locot, the present runner, seemed to float effortlessly before him, leading him nearer and nearer to the copse where the Blgat waited. With a grunt of command, Grkh lifted his heavy weapon, and his companions, moving very quietly for such large creatures, grouped themselves about him, their waiting nearly at an end. Grunting again, Grkh slid, crawling, into the grass, and soon there was not a single orange-haired Blgat to be seen.
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