Lankar of Callisto

But I had come through my first night in the jungle unscathed, and that was cause for rejoicing. To this day I can’t explain why some jungle predator hadn’t leaped upon us during the night, but none had, and I was in no mood to question my luck. Just so long as my luck held out long enough for me to reach Shondakor and the safety which Jandar’s city afforded!

Returning to the clearing after my perfunctory ablutions, I received a surprise.

Crimson bushes rustled, and an immense, burly-shouldered brute slid his purple body through them and waddled limpingly into the midst of the clearing. It was Bozol He had not deserted me with dawn after all, but had gone hunting for our breakfast. Clamped between his wide jaws were two plump, blood-splattered furry creatures that looked like an unlikely cross between rabbit and squirrel, if you could ignore the fact that their furry bodies were of an improbable bright pink. Bozo dropped one of these at my feet, gave me a long, solemn, eloquent look, and then retired to the other end of the clearing to make his breakfast of the second of the pair.

I have never been thanked for a kindness so eloquently without words before! I had no doubt that Bozo could easily have devoured both of the fat little “squirr-bits” (or “rabb-ells”?) himself, and still have had room for more. But the brute knew I had helped him, and deep in his primal, doggy heart, felt the stirrings of an inarticulate gratitude he knew no other way of expressing.

I had never had raw squirrel-rabbit for breakfast before, but from the noisy signals my midsection was telegraphing to my brain, this was no time to be picky. The furry outer skin was only loosely attached to the still-warm little body, and most of it came off without too much trouble. I washed the blood away by immersing the creature in the stream, and made some sort of a meal on its warm, rather tough flesh, which tasted like raw chicken more than anything else. Or, rather, like I should imagine raw chicken to taste. I chewed down a few mouthfuls of stringy meat and left the rest for Bozo to gobble up. Once I got started on my way through the jungle, I thought it likely I would be able to find something edible in the way of berries or nuts or something.

Bozo had polished off the remnants of the second rabbit-squirrel, and had cleaned the blood off his forepaws, his broad chest and his own face. He licked his chops almost exactly as a dog does, I noticed. The big fellow moved with a pronounced limp, as if his hind legs still hurt him, which they doubtless did, but he could get around all right. In fact, with six legs at his disposal, he could manage to get about without much trouble, even without using the terminal pair.

I gathered up my belongings, such as they were, and was ready to depart. All the while Bozo lay there at the far end of the clearing, regarding me solemnly from; huge, goggling eyes. His rear end was still bruised and somewhat swollen, I could see, but functional. I would like to have said goodbye to him in genuine doggish manner, by scratching the loose folds behind his ears and thumping his burly shoulders, but I didn’t quite dare approach him on such familiar terms.

“So long, now, Bozo. I guess you can get around by yourself now, hmm? Be a good boy, now, and don’t get into any more trouble. Okay? Watch out for falling trees. Goodbye, Bozo!”

Having said this and grinning as he cocked his head on one side, listening carefully to the words as if he could almost sense their meaning, I resolutely turned about, entered the brush, jumped across the stream, and began making my way through the jungle in the same general direction I had been traveling the night before.

I was certainly stiff and lame from spending a night on the cold bare ground, but as I worked my way through the jungle gradually my assorted aches and pains began to ease as my muscles limbered up. I still felt gummy-eyed and thick-headed; I still hungered for a good cup of coffee, and the dryness at the back of my throat told me I would certainly enjoy a cigarette, but I tried to keep my mind off these things, and in time I just about forgot them.

I collected a handful of dry, chewy nuts about the general size and shape of almonds, but tasting more like rather bitter walnuts. These I found littering the turf under a huge tree with amazing scarlet leaves, long streamers of them, for all the world like red hair-ribbons. A bit further on I encountered another kind of tree which sported large, fleshy, bright yellow fruit. Once you managed to get through the tough skin, the insides were soft and wet and tasted rather like a gamy variety of mango. Munching on the dry, bitter nuts and sucking the stringy rind of the pulpy yellow fruit, I made my way through the jungle, feeling I had something inside me that could be quite accurately described as a decent breakfast.