The Loranth (Star Sojourner Book 1) Read Online Free
Author: Jean Kilczer
neck, peered up at me with yellow eyes, and raised her lip.
“Oh, dammit. OK.” I fished out an Umber Tree pod from my shirt pocket and extended it to her, then squeezed my eyes shut as razor teeth sliced through the woody ball as though it were a wad of crumpled paper. Her mouth drooled pulp.
“You're so damned ugly, Gretch.” I clamped my teeth as she licked my palm with that raspy tongue that rakes like jellyfish tentacles. Salt from my skin for her food? Finally I scraped a parasite off one of her mucoid ears and urged her west along the canyon ridge. If she ever meets up with Saint George, she's going to be in real trouble
A sudden growl in the brush.
Gretch flattened to a crouch.
“What is it, girl?” I whispered and hung on.
Her shoulder muscles bunched, her neck swayed and craned toward a ramble of thick talonfern. The branches shook and the roar lowered to a continuous growl held by many throats.
A hunting pack!
I lifted the stingler from my hip holster and caught a musky smell, a heavy padding of feet that rustled foliage. Gretch hissed and raised neck spines. I stared at the bushes, every cell of me on red alert. There isn't much in these wilds that scares Gretch.
A flash of white within the rustling bramble. Ferns ripped. A flock of harmless white vranns burst squawking from underbrush, stubby tails wagging, gauzy wings flapping clumsily. Behind them a pack of hunting brawns slashed through vines and leaped, jaws snapping.
“Crotes!” I glanced back. Five good running strides to the edge of the canyon and a very direct shortcut into Leone.
The vranns bleated and clung to a lump tree with beaks and claws while pale liquid seeped from the trunk. A large green brawn, more than a meter high at his sinewy shoulder, leaped to the trunk and clawed toward a branch that sagged with vrann weight.
One of the bird-like creatures rolled his eyes and shrieked. He shook out his wings, fumbled into the air, flapping desperately, and beat a path to the shelf we stood upon.
“Oh, no, dammit! Not here!” I shouted as Gretch pounced on him. The vrann screamed and sent aloft a white spray from glands. It hung like a cloud puff. But my seasoned steed, unfooled by instant replays, snapped up the real vrann. Bones crunched and the vrann's screams died.
“Gretch, you dumb bitch!”
The brawn leader, blending there amid thick foliage, sprang to the ground. His tongue flicked as he watched Gretch lick blood off her mouth. I released the safety catch on my weapon, spun it to hot, one of the laser settings, then saw the dark battery light. “Oh shit!” Drained batteries. I'd never noticed. Maybe someday I would take these predators seriously.
Maybe today!
Gretch showed the hungry pack fifty eight sharp teeth.
They didn't seem impressed.
Her claws scraped the rocky ledge as she backed and hissed at the pack. Well, dammit, Gretch was a glider.
I glanced down at the thirty-meter canyon drop.
“Attack!” I commanded, leaned over her neck and swung the stingler like a club. And was almost thrown as she turned and swatted a charging brawn with her tail.
“You stupid -“
She vaulted from the cliff.
“JesusLotus!” I screamed, squeezed my eyes shut and locked my teeth. My stomach was somewhere behind my tonsils.
I clung to the blanket strap as we plummeted. The stingler went its own way down. There was a rush of wind, a feeling of nausea, the realization that I had to draw up my clamped legs, they were interfering with her skirts of membranous gliding skin stretched tautly now between fore and hind legs. I did, and groaned out a long breath.
We slowed as her sails caught the updraft. The wind tamed to a sigh. Goddamn! She was doing it. Jack had said Leone was growing. It was, from my perspective.
“Goddamn!”
We brushed past treetops on a hill. I was jolted as she hit the ground hard. She ran down the slope to break her speed, slowed to a lumbering lope, and then a walk.
I laughed, though my arms
“Oh, dammit. OK.” I fished out an Umber Tree pod from my shirt pocket and extended it to her, then squeezed my eyes shut as razor teeth sliced through the woody ball as though it were a wad of crumpled paper. Her mouth drooled pulp.
“You're so damned ugly, Gretch.” I clamped my teeth as she licked my palm with that raspy tongue that rakes like jellyfish tentacles. Salt from my skin for her food? Finally I scraped a parasite off one of her mucoid ears and urged her west along the canyon ridge. If she ever meets up with Saint George, she's going to be in real trouble
A sudden growl in the brush.
Gretch flattened to a crouch.
“What is it, girl?” I whispered and hung on.
Her shoulder muscles bunched, her neck swayed and craned toward a ramble of thick talonfern. The branches shook and the roar lowered to a continuous growl held by many throats.
A hunting pack!
I lifted the stingler from my hip holster and caught a musky smell, a heavy padding of feet that rustled foliage. Gretch hissed and raised neck spines. I stared at the bushes, every cell of me on red alert. There isn't much in these wilds that scares Gretch.
A flash of white within the rustling bramble. Ferns ripped. A flock of harmless white vranns burst squawking from underbrush, stubby tails wagging, gauzy wings flapping clumsily. Behind them a pack of hunting brawns slashed through vines and leaped, jaws snapping.
“Crotes!” I glanced back. Five good running strides to the edge of the canyon and a very direct shortcut into Leone.
The vranns bleated and clung to a lump tree with beaks and claws while pale liquid seeped from the trunk. A large green brawn, more than a meter high at his sinewy shoulder, leaped to the trunk and clawed toward a branch that sagged with vrann weight.
One of the bird-like creatures rolled his eyes and shrieked. He shook out his wings, fumbled into the air, flapping desperately, and beat a path to the shelf we stood upon.
“Oh, no, dammit! Not here!” I shouted as Gretch pounced on him. The vrann screamed and sent aloft a white spray from glands. It hung like a cloud puff. But my seasoned steed, unfooled by instant replays, snapped up the real vrann. Bones crunched and the vrann's screams died.
“Gretch, you dumb bitch!”
The brawn leader, blending there amid thick foliage, sprang to the ground. His tongue flicked as he watched Gretch lick blood off her mouth. I released the safety catch on my weapon, spun it to hot, one of the laser settings, then saw the dark battery light. “Oh shit!” Drained batteries. I'd never noticed. Maybe someday I would take these predators seriously.
Maybe today!
Gretch showed the hungry pack fifty eight sharp teeth.
They didn't seem impressed.
Her claws scraped the rocky ledge as she backed and hissed at the pack. Well, dammit, Gretch was a glider.
I glanced down at the thirty-meter canyon drop.
“Attack!” I commanded, leaned over her neck and swung the stingler like a club. And was almost thrown as she turned and swatted a charging brawn with her tail.
“You stupid -“
She vaulted from the cliff.
“JesusLotus!” I screamed, squeezed my eyes shut and locked my teeth. My stomach was somewhere behind my tonsils.
I clung to the blanket strap as we plummeted. The stingler went its own way down. There was a rush of wind, a feeling of nausea, the realization that I had to draw up my clamped legs, they were interfering with her skirts of membranous gliding skin stretched tautly now between fore and hind legs. I did, and groaned out a long breath.
We slowed as her sails caught the updraft. The wind tamed to a sigh. Goddamn! She was doing it. Jack had said Leone was growing. It was, from my perspective.
“Goddamn!”
We brushed past treetops on a hill. I was jolted as she hit the ground hard. She ran down the slope to break her speed, slowed to a lumbering lope, and then a walk.
I laughed, though my arms
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