Kel tapped and banged on the trapdoor for all he was worth, but got no response from the creature within. Maybe it was still eating the pod, or the pod had poisoned it.
There was only one thing left to do before reporting the event to the rest of the group, and so he took the marker pod from his belt and rubbed it in a large circle around the area of the trapdoor, a warning to all to be on guard against possible danger.
The marker pods were a recent find for the group, and although they had only been in use for a relatively short period of time, had proved their worth many times over.
They grew in an area which was shared by Kel’s group and the next nearest one in the forest, and when it was found that they were no use as a food source, someone had discovered that if they were rubbed hard on a rough surface, the juice which exuded from them dried a deep red colour and was ideal as a warning mark for anything dangerous.
Everyone now carried one of the new marker pods, and little red marks were appearing on rotten branches, dangerous fruits and plants, and now suspect areas of bark on the main trackways would also be marked.
Life was getting a little safer now, but then new hazards were springing up out of nowhere every now and again, so all in all, some sort of balance was maintained by nature.
Kel continued his journey to the Story Teller’s cave in one of the mighty tree trunks which reared up from the forest floor to the dizzying heights above, wondering if the wise old man would be able to shed any light on the new threat to the group.
He looked up as something above him screamed. Very few people had ever gone all the way up to the top of the forest, as it took such a long time to climb up to the sky, and there were all sorts of new hazards along the way.
They had quite enough trouble dodging the perils of their own level without getting used to new ones at other layers in the great forest complex. Also, the light from the greater sun was far too bright for most of those who had made the effort and reached the top of the forest as it hurt their eyes, so it wasn’t a popular place to go.
The forest floor was a very long way down, and almost as dark during the day, as the night was at the level in which the group lived when the lesser sun failed to rise, which it did at regular intervals. Also the lower one went, the wetter it got, and at ground level there were large pools of water which, according to the Story Teller, contained huge creatures that were always hungry for anything which wandered or fell their way.
Kel spent as much time as he could at the Story Teller’s cave, fascinated by the tales of the past and the strange monsters which lived at the different levels in the forest.
There were the greater tales, telling of the group’s major events through time, the stories of the greater and lesser sun, the litany of foods which were safe to eat, creatures to avoid and the general laws of the group.
The lesser tales were more specific, dealing with a single item, and it was the tale of the greater and lesser cutting knives which Kel wanted to hear again.
As he neared the cave of the Story Teller, Kel took extra care as this was an area well known for its propensity of whip tendrils, and although many of them had been cut down to make it safe for those travelling along the great branch highway, more could well have grown since the last cutting.
Kel remembered the story told of the time before they had the cutting knives, and how their movements were very restricted as the tendrils somehow seemed to sense that moving food was around and grew in huge numbers.
Before the time of the knives, if anyone was caught by a tendril that was the end of them. But now, if you acted quickly enough, the first tendril to wrap around you could be cut, and if you were lucky and didn’t fall to the forest floor, you lived to tell the tale, although many in their enthusiasm to rid themselves of the dreaded creepers cut themselves at the same time, and then suffered a slow death from the fungus which seemed to grow very rapidly in open wounds.
No one knew for sure if the whip tendrils were animal or vegetable, but it was thought they were some type of animal as they moved so quickly, whereas most plant creatures were slower in their movements, but made up for their lack of rapid response in the cunning way they set their traps.
The Story Teller lived apart from the main group, but no one knew why and few had ever thought to ask him. He was held in some reverence as his knowledge of medicinal plants and what could be eaten was paramount to the group’s survival, and without this they would not continue as a race for very long.
The story telling was just entertaining for most, but held a strange fascination for the ever curious Kel, and he never tired of listening to the old legends of the past and how things had come about.
The cave in the main trunk of the giant tree was part natural, it was thought, and part made by previous Story Tellers. It had a main room and several smaller side rooms in which food and the tools of his trade were stored.
Although the Story Teller didn’t look all that old, the oldest member of the group maintained that he had looked just the same when he had
