There it was again, he thought. That feeling that something was watching them. Was it what had exterminated the mokusinga? If so, he had decidedly mixed feelings about making its acquaintance.
But whatever it was, it had chosen to kill the mokusinga and then ignore them. That suggested either extraordinary good luck on the part of the greatly relieved travelers or something even more improbable and fantastic.
Choice.
Why would anything in the Viisiiviisii choose to slay mokusinga and ignore them? Perhaps, he mused, because he and his companions were not the natural prey of whatever had done the killing? Or maybe they had nothing to do with it. Maybe whatever had slain the spine-armed flyers had only been reacting defensively, protecting itself from a perceived threat. That conjecture made a lot more sense. He voiced his opinion to his companions.
“Forest spirits,” muttered Jemunu-jah as he took a drink from his rainwater collector, using his strong tongue to draw the pouch up to his mouth.
“I say that it does not matter.” Masurathoo’s trunks both bobbed nervously. The Deyzara was still recovering from the narrowness of their escape. “What is important is that we are still alive and unharmed.” He glanced apprehensively at the enfolding forest. “Whatever killed the mokusinga may still be here, either rooted in place or lurking about. All the more reason for us to be on our way.”
“Nice to hear you say that for a change.” Hasa looked briefly to the east before choosing a likely course and starting off. His companions followed, Masurathoo taking middle position as always.