“A sevasalu,” Jemunu-jah explained. He did not offer the fallen Deyzara a hand up.
As he struggled back to his feet, Masurathoo saw that if he had landed only a little more to the left, he would have missed the cushioning cluster of parasitic plants that had broken his fall, and plunged right through to the water below. Remembering the triple-jawed vuniwai, he shuddered.
Ears rotating back and forth in a sign of exasperation, Jemunu-jah sighed softly. “Sevasalu not dangerous. Interesting, yes, but not dangerous.”
Taking a couple of tentative steps toward the beast that was making its careful, languid way into the denser foliage, Masurathoo made an effort to see what was so interesting about the animal. When he finally screwed up sufficient courage to move near enough, he needed no further explanation from Jemunu-jah or Hasa.
Advancing slowly on four short legs equipped with inward-facing gripping toes, the sevasalu carried its head low, swinging it deliberately back and forth as it grazed on the fungi that sprouted profusely from many branches. Prehensile lips enabled it to pluck the choicest pieces from holes and cracks in the wood. Heavy-lidded eyes with doubled pupils added to the appearance of a creature that existed in a perpetual state of near-somnambulence. Instead of fur, it was covered with small green scutes. This armor provided a certain amount of protection from roving predators. What really kept it safe, Jemunu-jah pointed out, was the taste of its flesh. Impregnated with alkaloids, it was exceedingly bitter.