"Alan Dean Foster - Humanx 1 - Midworld" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

didn't even quiver. The thorn had pierced its brain
and killed it instantly.

Bom sighed, put the snumer down and stood up,
stretching cramped muscles. The green fur cloak fell
freely from his neck. Taking his bone skinning knife
from his belt, he stepped free of the sheltering crev-
ice and walked down the broad vine toward the limp
shape.

Easily five times his mass. Born mused, and almost

all of that edible! But tasting it in one's mind and
cooked over a hot fire were two different things.
There was now the small matter of getting the prized
carcass back to the village and dealing with hungry
scavengers along the way. The sooner they left here,

the better.

Bending over the edge of the cubble, he got busy

with the knife. Muscle and tendon parted as he cut
at the hands and tail which held it fast. The grazer

fell into the foliage just below.

A voice like an idling locomotive sounded sud-
denly behind him. Bom leaped instinctively, sailed out
and down before grabbing a branch of the cubble
and jerking to a muscle-biting stop. Panting, he turned
and looked back up. He had recognized the rum-
bling even as he jumped, but too late to stay the

reflex action.

Ruumahum stood looking down at him from the

main bole of the cubble. The furcot moved closer,
all six of his thick legs gripping the wood. The ursine
face peered at him, the three dark eyes set in. a curve
over the muzzle staring down mournfully. Great claws

scratched at the branch.

Born shook his head and swung himself onto the

vine.

"I've told you often, Ruumahum, not to sneak up