But Gazda had become more open to caprice as he matured, and could convince himself that his mother would understand his impulsive needs. He could not always depend upon her for safety and sustenance, he reasoned, and so she would benefit from his time away.
That thought had kept him swinging through the trees until it left him at the platform outside his lair, clenched in mortal combat with guilt as he imagined his mother alone in the dead of night.
However, like most growing offspring of the anthropoid variety, he got better at overpowering the instinctive urges that would have him race home and see to her safety.
Gazda combated those impulses by embracing the logic that had put him at the tree-nest in the first place. He was there in part to improve his hunting skills. His mother had already benefited greatly by the rich meat he shared with her as a result.
So, in a way, he was doing it for her.
Also, he had a point to make. Goro’s reaction and embarrassment over the snakeskin had greatly overshadowed Gazda’s accomplishment of killing the python in the first place. So, rather than risk bringing up that unpleasant incident again by hunting another snake, the night ape had decided to go after a beast that was larger than his previous shame.
He wanted to kill a predator like himself—not an ape—for they were group hunters, and no masters of stalking and stealth—no, he knew a greater prize would be to go after something that could hunt and kill a python—or an ape.
In the past Gazda had relied on chance for finding prey, following tracks and scents to the inevitable kill; and while he had found the spoor of predators aplenty, he had guessed quite accurately that they were more adept at avoiding him than the creatures he usually dined upon.
From this he had surmised that hunting such a beast required more skill than chance.
Gazda and the rest of his tribe had long hated the leopards that had fed upon apes like Poomak, but like the others, Gazda had always retreated to the safety of the trees whenever one was near.
However, as time passed, and the night ape’s confidence had grown, while the other apes hurled taunts and scolded, Gazda studied the supple killers until they retreated.
Leopards were deliberate with each movement they made—leaving nothing to chance. They studied every patch of earth upon which they were about to set a paw, and they would appraise each blade of grass for scent or mark. This calculating nature made them the efficient and terrifying predators they were.
Gazda had seen the results. Remains of beasts often heavier than the killers, carried into the high branches and wedged in place where they were butchered, the bodies torn to ribbons and stripped of flesh by long fangs and razor-sharp claws.
Hunting such an animal would be dangerous and the outcome entirely unpredictable. But if he were successful? The thought of the respect that such a deed would earn made Gazda dizzy.
Gazda had grown to about the size of an average leopard, and while great power surged in his own limbs, he seemed awkward and angular in comparison to their compact bodies that were formed of solid muscle and thick bone
But the night ape knew his long knife would make all the difference. It had so easily slain the great python, biting deeply until the creature almost broke in half, and wielded again in the night ape’s fist; the blade would surely work in the same way with a leopard.
The only difference would be that when Gazda had drunk its blood and skinned its flesh, he’d have a hide worth celebrating that none within the tribe would dare criticize.
Then would come the long-deserved respect.
Gazda knew that like him, the leopard preferred hunting in the dark, and likely had powers similar to his own that grew stronger after sunset. The night ape was encouraged by this notion, for while he did not greatly fear the beasts; he wanted to be at his strongest when he met one.
CHAPTER 16 – The Pride of Prey
So, that night as the full moon drifted in and out of ragged clouds, Gazda slipped past the tree-nest door and sprinted the short distance to where long branches reached out of the jungle and into the clearing. With a powerful leap, he was into the trees and swinging away with all his speed. Around him the night creatures made their songs and calls, and all of them combined to form a constant noise that would have confused an animal not born to the jungle.
The night ape moved seemingly deaf to the cacophony, though his subconscious mind studied the raucous cloud for any sign of danger.
His thoughts were otherwise focused upon the hunt.
Gazda knew jungle trails that led to a spring where many forest creatures drank.
And near such paths would leopards lurk.
Gazda’s eyes pierced the jungle depths so acutely at night that it still took him great concentration to see only what he wished to see. The jungle was so crowded that every glowing insect, reptile, bird or tree gleamed against surrounding shadow in a way that could dazzle him.
This effect was pronounced on nights where the great moon flew in and out of scudding clouds, alternately bathing the jungle landscape with its bright light, adding random changes as the night ape’s eyes struggled to adjust.
In even low light or darkness, the trees were to him illuminated as though by a pale, blue gleam and so he could pass recklessly through the canopied jungle, leaping from one branch to the next or by sprinting along the wider boughs before hurtling into open space to catch at vine or creeper.
At other times, he swung hand
