After a while, he realised that he was on path, the grass worn away to reveal pale soil of a peculiar dun hue. The Dolana seemed weaker on the path than at its edges, perhaps depleted by the constant traffic. Then again, what manner of creatures used it? He squatted to try to discern tracks, but the scratches only looked like tiny claw marks. Unconcerned, he wandered on, admiring the bizarre and ever-changing landscape. On this world, the terrain changed quite literally, for plants altered their colour periodically. The teardrop plants were now crimson and indigo, the spindly streamer trees had changed to puce, olive green and sienna. The sky had also darkened to a lovely shade of violet, and a glance at the sun showed him that it was going into eclipse with an irregularly-shaped moon. The pale blue clouds, oddly, glowed with soft light, akin to a sunset.
A scratching behind him made him whip around just as strong hands grabbed him and dragged him off the path. Surprised, he swung to face his attacker and found himself nose to snout with a Shamarese predator. The beast released him and stepped back, its sinuous torso curving as it dropped to all fours. Its large grey eyes slid away from his, and it spoke in its fluting language.
'No harm, Mujar. Bad things come along path.'
Its speech was rudimentary and rather crude, but perhaps the translation mangled it. In his present form, Chanter knew he lacked a full understanding of his fellow creature's speech. The rainbow-hued predator watched him, awaiting his response. A long, graceful neck, whose mane of delicate transparent fronds drifted when it moved, supported its triangular head, and sharp white teeth filled its rather inflexible mouth. Its hands, now in service as forefeet, had long delicate fingers tipped with sharp white claws. The last two digits were bent back to support the leading edge of a filmy wing membrane that joined its abdomen halfway along its length. The wings looked inefficient, and were. The predator could fly, but only by commanding Ashmar. Unlike Trueman beasts, the creatures of Shamarese did not rely on physical design, they commanded their world as he did.
Chanter raised his hand, palm up, and replied in the predator's language, 'No harm. What things use the path?'
The predator glanced past him. 'Creatures of this world. Small, but annoying.'
Chanter followed the predator's gaze. Thousands of the crab-like creatures scuttled along the path in single file, moving at a remarkable speed, their bony wings rustling. Their bright, orange and burnt umber shells glistened in the fading light, and bubbles frothed from their jaws.
'Where are they going?' Chanter asked.
'To the plasma sea.'
'Why?'
'To feed. First time in this Lake, Mujar?'
Chanter nodded, unashamed of his ignorance. 'Have you been in many?'
'Lots.'
'I'd like to see this plasma sea. Is it dangerous?'
The predator snorted musically and shook its head. 'This is the Lake of Renewal. Nothing is dangerous to us here. The plants feed on the animals, which eat the plasma sea, but they don't like the taste of us.'
The predator's speech was improving, either with practice, or because Chanter was becoming used to it.
'I'd like to see it,' he said.
The predator turned and walked away with a graceful, sinuous motion, rather like a four-legged snake. This was because its torso was longer than its legs, and it used that to lengthen its strides. The beast would not have a name, so Chanter decided to call it Nog, for his own reference. He also had no idea of the predator's sex. Shamarese creatures showed no outward signs of gender, since they lacked any form of external organs.
Chanter was disinclined to enquire on such a delicate matter, so opted to think of Nog as male. Nog wound his way through the strange plants, giving some a wider berth than others, and Chanter followed his lead. The world darkened as the moon swallowed the sun, and stars glimmered. Chanter gazed up at the amazing galaxy that filled this sky. A vast, sprawling nebula of young suns spiralled in an orgy of stellar creation. The stars were so thick that at the centre they made up a solid mass of white light.
As they walked, Nog explained, 'The little shelled ones only make their journey to feed at eclipse, which happens every day. At this time, the plants are less vigilant, so it's safer. They feed, then return to their burrows in a rock cliff.'
'Why don't they fly?'
'They can't. They've lost the ability.'
'Why not travel at night?'
Nog glanced back. 'It's too dangerous. Many of the deadlier plants become active at night. Eclipse is the safest time.'
'Are there no intelligent creatures here?'
'Not animals, no. They're just mobile plant food, and if any of the plants are intelligent, we have no way of communicating with them.'
Chanter shook his head in wonder. 'What manner of god would create such a strange world?'
'One who likes plants?'
The Mujar smiled as Nog pushed through a barrier of black and red fronds, leading him onto the beach of a plasma sea. It stretched away to purple mountains on the horizon, an expanse of heaving, glowing, chaotic jelly-like liquid that seethed with life. A feeding frenzy was underway, and the brilliant amber plasma could hardly be seen for all the creatures that consumed it. The tiny crabs were piled three deep along the shore, shovelling the plasma into their mouths with their pincers.
Delicate, bird-like creatures strolled across the quivering surface on thin legs that ended in enormous feet, pecking at the plasma with long beaks. Several bloated, seal-like animals swam in it, kept afloat by air bags along their flanks and using flippers to paddle through the slime. Many other animals joined the feast, some of which defied description. Flying creatures swooped down to skim the surface and scoop up mouthfuls of plasma, others hung under balloons and dropped long tubes down to suck it up. All concentrated on eating as quickly as they could, and no squabbles broke out.
Chanter watched the scene with deep fascination. Perhaps strangest of all were the plants that grew along the edge of the plasma sea, fishing for their food with long whip-like appendages or sucker-covered tentacles. Some swiped at the flying beasts with almost invisible nets, others used suction to ensnare their prey. Surprisingly, there was little noise other than the occasional squeak of a trapped creature and the slaps and pops of the feeding plants. Chanter found the sight bizarre and slightly macabre, but this was a new experience, and he absorbed it in all its weird detail. Obviously none of these creatures, either plant or animal, had any control over the elements.
The animals were much like Lowman beasts, driven to eat and reproduce as much as possible to feed the carnivorous plants. They displayed a remarkable lack of intelligence in their inept attempts to avoid the plants' traps. The plants were far too alien for him to judge their intelligence, if any. From the air's poor quality, he deduced that the carnivorous plants relied upon their consumption of meat for energy, and did not use photosynthesis. What little air there was seemed to be the product of the aquamarine grass, which appeared to be a true plant. The whole system was rather chaotic and pointless, as if a bungling child god had started to create an impossible world, then grown bored and left it half finished. The plants were, in his opinion, monstrosities, and the animals ugly and ill designed.
Nog stood nearby, watching the scene without interest, and occasionally yawned or scratched. He showed no impatience, but was clearly growing bored as time dragged by, since he did not share the Mujar's fascination. A tentacle brushed him, and he bit it, causing it to writhe away.
'Tell me what you know,' Chanter said.
'We could live on this world all our lives and not know everything about it. The animals feed on the many plasma seas, which seem to ooze from the ground, for it never runs out. The plants eat the animals, except for a few that are true plants, like the crimson forests and the grass. The plants never eat each other, but they do sometimes kill others to thin out the competition. Those further away from the seas use scent to lure their prey, and the animals here seem incredibly stupid. For the creatures of our world, this is a safe place, with good soil and plenty of sun and water. The plants don't harm us, perhaps because we are akin to plants as well as animals, and they don't see us as rivals.' Nog stood on his hind legs, raising himself to Chanter's eye level. 'I have not been home for some time. How fares Shamarese?'
The Mujar shrugged. 'Little has changed. To return now would be folly.'
