A Triumph of Souls by Foster Alan Dean

Author:Foster, Alan Dean [Foster, Alan Dean]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy, Adventure, Science Fiction
ISBN: 9780446522182
Amazon: 044652218X
Goodreads: 35139
Publisher: Aspect
Published: 2000-03-01T08:00:00+00:00

XIII

Simna paused with food halfway to his mouth. Sensing the approach of the burrow’s owner, the black litah growled a warning as it moved off to one side. Eyes shining, Hunkapa Aub put both hands together and murmured delightedly.

“Pretty, pretty.”

The adult tomuwog was bigger than any of the travelers, but it was only partially there. A glittering, roughly cylindrical shape, it entered the nesting chamber on noiseless feet of aquamarine light. One moment it stood out in sharp relief, the next it was reduced to a drifting cloud composed of splintered sapphires. With each step, portions of its supple, streamlined body slipped in and out of sight. Half solid, half illusion, it inspected them warily out of eyes that were pale blue mother-of-pearl.

It had a short tail that struck blue-green sparks from the air as it flicked nervously from side to side, and a narrow snout of a face that glittered as if faceted. Huge sparkling pads front and rear resembled flippers more than feet. The edges of these appendages caught the ambient light and bounced it back in clipped, prismatic jolts to the retinas of onlookers. The shimmering claws had to be sharp, Simna reflected, to slice a path between two colors.

Filtered blue-green light danced off the creature’s flanks, so bright that from time to time the entranced intruders were forced to turn their faces away from so much brilliance and blink away tears. Simna found himself wondering what a tomuwog that inhabited the space between red and orange might look like, or between purple and red. Certainly they would be no less colorful than the singular slow-moving one before them.

That the tomuwog was aware of their presence there could be no doubt. Twinkling eyes examined each of them in turn. Upset at their presence but apparently convinced they posed no immediate threat, it proceeded to haul itself over to the glittering, glimmering nest and settle itself atop the pile of carefully scavenged color.

Resuming eating, but slowly so as not to startle the placid creature, Simna leaned over to whisper to the herdsman. “Where do they come from, bruther? Eggs?”

“I am not sure.” Observing the remarkable beast, Ehomba wore a satisfied smile. “I believe they lay light. This light then matures according to the predominating colors within which it is brought up, and becomes a full-grown tomuwog. As I have said, they are shy creatures and difficult to see. They almost never wander outside their burrows.”

A sudden thought caused the swordsman to put down the remainder of his food. “Hoy, what do they eat? Doesn’t look like it has any teeth.”

“That is a real mystery, Simna.” In contrast to his hesitant companion, Ehomba had no trouble finishing his food. “No one has ever seen a tomuwog eating. I would not think there was much to eat between blue and green, but if my elders had not explained it to me I would not have thought there was much space there, either. Perhaps they forage on little bits of wandering moonlight, or the motes we see dancing in a shaft of afternoon sunshine.

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