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Kai flattened to the ground, spreading legs and arms and hoping the preysuit masked his breathing and heartbeat sufficiency. Beside him, Pele slowly lowered into a similar position, disturbing the gravel as little as possible where they had been searching for gold and minerals. Sandwyverns hunted by vibrations, lacking eyes. The tumbled rocks lining the Broad River’s summer-dry flood plain provided perfect opportunity for the creatures to swim upstream from their primary shore habitat to reach their laying grounds.
The clay red creature screamed, tilting its head this way and that to pick up the echo in its sensing antennae. It licked its long, forked tongue into the air, clearly smelling the humans, but unsure where they were. Another scream sent synapses scrambling to remember not to scream back as the register climbed shrilly and raked their eardrums.
The two gatherers managed to retain their wits and remained silence and still. Kai ignored the scorpion walking across his hand. The preysuit masked heat perfectly.
The most a sandwyvern ever screeched according to the records was nineteen times. Normally only four would satisfy it, but heading upstream to lay eggs, they became determined hunters. The colony biologists believed recent blood may be needed for one of the species reproductive processes, and it seemed human blood served just as well as banthum and wicket.
Lucky them, the planet could eat them as easily as they could eat the animals and plants of the planet.
Six shrieks. Hopefully, this creature won’t be a record-breaker.
(words 251; first published 9/22/2024)
