And he had almost gone strolling blithely in among them, he realized in shock.
The lorqual were, at least insofar as the Gwurran knew, the biggest inhabitants of the plains. Though they stood only slightly taller at their two sets of shoulders than did the suubatar, the lorqual were far more massive. A single mature adult would weigh as much as four suubatars. Their strange, stiff, brown and beige fur stuck straight out from their sides, giving them a bristly appearance. Haifa dozen solid, bony knobs protruded from each massive skull. In rutting season, the sound of adult bull lorqual smashing into each other head to head could be heard across vast sweeps of prairie. Each of six feet terminated in an equal number of powerful horn-shielded toes: three facing forward and three back, a design perfectly suited to supporting the creature's great weight.
In contrast to their immense size, they had only two com paratively small eyes, one on either side of the blocky skull. But the single nostril opening was large enough for a Gwurran to hide within. Mounted on the end of a short, flexible snout that was constantly testing the air, it provided all necessary warning of possible danger.
Not that anything could really threaten a herd of lorqual, Tooqui knew. Even the young, once they were a couple of weeks old, were too big and powerful for anything less than a full pack of prowling shanhs to attack. Usually they were intolerant of intruders in their midst. But they ignored him. Huddled together as they were, he realized, they must be preoccupied with the impending squall. The rain that was falling would also serve to conceal his presence from them, masking his smell.
Lightning was flashing more frequently now, allowing him a better view of the herd. He judged it to be sizable, though it was impossible to gauge its full extent. He could not see over or around a single lorqual, much less the dozen or so immediately in front of him. These might constitute the entire herd, or there might be a dozen more animals lined up behind them, bony heads pressed against bristling flanks and hindmosts.
That was when he had the idea. It could as easily kill him as make him a hero. But after three days of hard scrambling through high grass, over rocky places, and down clammy mud holes, it was the first idea he'd had. That it might also be his last weighed heavily on him. It very likely might not even work.
Bending, he made a Gwurran gathering basket out of the dri est grass he could find. It was something taught to every young member of the tribe, so he had no trouble performing the task in the dark, his nimble fingers weaving the grass stems together with the effortlessness of long practice. Advancing slowly and carefully through the falling rain so as not to disturb the highly sensitive lorqual, he began searching for something else. Even in the rain, it did not take long for him to find what he wanted: a basketful of stones, each somewhat rounded, and each of a size to fit comfortably in his long-fingered hand.
The easy part of his idea fulfilled, he now had no choice but to proceed to the much more difficult-and dangerous.
Still moving slowly and patiently, frequently wiping rainwater from his protuberant eyes, he tried to pick out one lorqual that looked a little drowsier than the others. In the darkness and rain, it was impossible. It might have been just as difficult in the daytime, he knew. One lorqual looked, and acted, pretty much like any other lorqual. If he kept dithering, though, he might abandon the idea entirely, and then where would he be?
With the nearest animal as likely a candidate as the next, he crept as close as he dared. Slipping the basket of stones over one arm, he grabbed hold of the lorqual's wet bristles and pulled himself up off the ground. When the creature did not react, he began to climb. The closer he got to the top, the greater his confidence in his chances of reaching the monster's back without getting stomped.
Then he was there, on top, balancing carefully on the ani mal's wet middle shoulders. Keeping his step as light as possible, he made his way forward between upthrust bristles that were not unlike prairie grass until he found himself in the natural saddle between the creature's first and second set of shoulders. It still had not reacted in any way to his presence. Damp and cold, soaked by the now pounding rain, Tooqui found himself encouraged by his not-so-insignificant triumph. He did not waste time congratulating himself. What he had accomplished so far was nothing compared to what still had to be done.
Assuming a standing position behind the lorqual's neck, he braced his feet as best he could, took one of the stones from the basket, and prepared himself. He did not have to wait long. Two shafts of the Light-That-Burns brillianted the underside of fast-moving clouds. More nervous than usual because of the now raging storm, the herd stirred uneasily. Thunder boomed. As it did so, he took careful aim and threw the first stone.
It struck its intended target just above the left eye. Letting out a startled howl of distress that sounded like a moaning moon, the lorqual next to the one on which he was standing rose and kicked out with its front legs, keeping the middle and rear pairs firmly planted on the ground. A distressed bellowing rose from those huddled nearby. A second stone flung in the wake of the first struck another member of the assembled herd. It also jerked and kicked out. A third rock hit the biggest lorqual of all right in the eye.
The herd began to surge back and forth, uncertain how to react or what to do next. Among the animals clustered around Tooqui, panic began to spread like a wave, ripples of alarm racing toward the outer edges of the mob. He kept chucking stones, continuing to agitate those animals within his throwing range. The mewling roar grew steadily louder, rising even above the rolling thunder and driving rain.
Confused and uncertain, fearful and concerned, lorqual bumped up against jittery lorqual. Then Kapchenaga lent a hand in the form of several bolts of the Light-That-Burns. With the last, closest strike, the herd abandoned all semblance of restraint. They began to move. Slowly at first, but rapidly picking up speed. Rain splattering against his eyes, Tooqui did his best to point them in the right direction with his carefully lobbed stones. When the last of these had been cast, he grabbed hold of a double handful of neck bristles and hung on for dear life. For his own, and for those of his friends. He had no choice anyway. Had he tried to slip clear of his gigantic mount, he would have been flattened like a bug. Beneath him, the earth itself trembled under the impact of the quickening lorqual.
The Qulun encampment was silent, dark save for the usual all- night glowpoles that were set out to show any nocturnal am blers the way between structures. Thunder rattled the raindrops, then resounded again.
A picket suddenly blew a distress call on his horn. Multiply ing alarms reverberated throughout the camp. Everyone woke up; some quickly, others more slowly, wiping at their wide eyes. Within the visitors' transport, Luminara tried to mumble a question through her gag but failed to make herself understood. She sensed movement all around her as her equally securely bound friends struggled to sit up. There was no mistaking the reality of the disturbance, though. The turbulence was not in the Force- it was in the ground itself.