Margo thrilled as the dawn came up, spreading fingers of light across the heart of Africa. Beneath their floating platform the distant Drakensberg mountains snaked away southward along the rugged Wild Coast. Directly below, the Limpopo glinted in the early light, a treacherous ribbon of water navigable only during flood stage. According to her ATLS readings, they had emerged in early December, the beginning of the summer season in this part of sub-Saharan Africa. Far to the south, clouds boiled up over the mountains. Flickers of lightning split the predawn sky as the Drakensbergs roared with another of their legendary storms.
Fortunately, Margo’s route lay to the north, following the Limpopo valley in its long, arcing curve through the Drakensberg foothills. With any luck, they’d avoid the worst of the summer storms. Margo peered over the side and grinned even while pulling her jacket tighter. The crystalline chill of the high air invigorated her. The river valley below was a vast carpet of green rising steadily into the foothills. Animals moved in the early sunlight. Vast herds rippled like brown rivers. She wondered what they were. She understood being hungry; but how could anyone hunt such beautiful animals for sport?
She glanced at Koot and wrinkled her nose. He hunted for sport and scuttlebutt had it he’d guide down-time safaris, too, but he probably knew what those herds were. She could ask, anyway. “Koot?”
The grizzled Afrikaner glanced back without speaking.
”What are those?” She pointed.