Lost World: The grasslands
Apr. 14th, 2008 11:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jackIn the base of the valley, it opened out into a grass-frond plain. The grass fronds waved level with our heads, and for a moment I thought it would provide a perfect cover, but J. Clive saw out thoughts and shook her head resignedly.
She slipped from her stegoi and stepped across to the beginning of the fronds, and shook them loosely with her hand, and we saw the tops wag violently from side to side. They were elastic, but so light any movement was transmitted clearly to the top, and Clive drew our attention out across the plain.
Small herds of taller herbivores wandered about, mostly armoured hump-backs and stegoi, with some larger beasts ambling purposefully, necks wagging. But in other places the fronds rippled enticingly, tracing the path of smaller creatures (smaller meaning, perhaps only slightly taller than an automobile).
We looked up, and saw pterosaurs gliding back and forth over the grassy sea, and after a moment realised they were tracking these ripples. Scattered tyrannosaurs strode about, singly or in pairs, and we realised they were following the pterosaurs. In the distance, we saw one hunter suddenly put on a burst of speed, and snatch up a giant speck of some grazing animal out of a presumed herd, and above the nearest pterosaurs began spiralling down, anticipating the pickings that would be left for them, now they'd guided the killer to their prey, and to the sides, other vast birds wheeled closer, prepared to join in the hopeful pickings.
We shuddered. If anything, this plain seemed less hospitable than the grassed and wooded gentle slopes behind us. Johnson gestured left, and the professor voiced it. The steam we'd passed must have flown that way, and the shape of the valley suggested there must be a river it flowed into. If the fronds stopped short of the river, following in their shadow would keep us visible from the fewest pterosaurs.
It seemed a better chance. I noticed the herds moved in curved swathes, designed to eventually cover the plain with even grazing, and I felt sure that whatever was searching for us alone would spot any trail that cut increasingly toward the mountain on the other side of the valley.
However, the predators would be sure to stake out the river too, to catch any creatures coming to drink, and if we followed it, we would end up running into all the carnivores along the whole stretch.
But as we guided our weary stegoi south-westwards -- as much as directions shifted in this place, we felt the mountain was north-west at the moment, the river ran south past it, and we were cutting towards it -- the professor started to talk about theology and we felt stirrings of hope.
She slipped from her stegoi and stepped across to the beginning of the fronds, and shook them loosely with her hand, and we saw the tops wag violently from side to side. They were elastic, but so light any movement was transmitted clearly to the top, and Clive drew our attention out across the plain.
Small herds of taller herbivores wandered about, mostly armoured hump-backs and stegoi, with some larger beasts ambling purposefully, necks wagging. But in other places the fronds rippled enticingly, tracing the path of smaller creatures (smaller meaning, perhaps only slightly taller than an automobile).
We looked up, and saw pterosaurs gliding back and forth over the grassy sea, and after a moment realised they were tracking these ripples. Scattered tyrannosaurs strode about, singly or in pairs, and we realised they were following the pterosaurs. In the distance, we saw one hunter suddenly put on a burst of speed, and snatch up a giant speck of some grazing animal out of a presumed herd, and above the nearest pterosaurs began spiralling down, anticipating the pickings that would be left for them, now they'd guided the killer to their prey, and to the sides, other vast birds wheeled closer, prepared to join in the hopeful pickings.
We shuddered. If anything, this plain seemed less hospitable than the grassed and wooded gentle slopes behind us. Johnson gestured left, and the professor voiced it. The steam we'd passed must have flown that way, and the shape of the valley suggested there must be a river it flowed into. If the fronds stopped short of the river, following in their shadow would keep us visible from the fewest pterosaurs.
It seemed a better chance. I noticed the herds moved in curved swathes, designed to eventually cover the plain with even grazing, and I felt sure that whatever was searching for us alone would spot any trail that cut increasingly toward the mountain on the other side of the valley.
However, the predators would be sure to stake out the river too, to catch any creatures coming to drink, and if we followed it, we would end up running into all the carnivores along the whole stretch.
But as we guided our weary stegoi south-westwards -- as much as directions shifted in this place, we felt the mountain was north-west at the moment, the river ran south past it, and we were cutting towards it -- the professor started to talk about theology and we felt stirrings of hope.