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150 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1911
They were the bud of life whose strengths and struggles we can only imagine. (9)
The Life of Fire had always fascinated Naoh. Like animals, it needs prey — it feeds on branches, dry grass, animal fat. It increases the more it is fed. Each flame is born of other flames, and every Fire can die. But the stature of a Fire is unlimited, and it allows itself to be divided and multiplied without end. Each piece can live and grow on its own. It decreases when it is deprived of food — it becomes small as a bee, or a fly, and yet it can be reborn within a blade of grass, become as vast as a marsh. It’s a beast and yet it’s not a beast. He has no legs or leaping bodies, and yet it can outpace the antelopes. It boasts no wings, but it flies into the clouds. It has no mouth, and still it howls, it scolds, it roars. Even with no hands or claws, it takes hold of anything it desires… Naoh loved, hated and feared it. As a child, he had sometimes suffered its bite. He knew that Fire had no preference for anyone. It was ready to devour even those who maintain him. It was more devious than the hyena, more ferocious than the panther. But his presence was delicious — it dispelled the cruelty of cold nights, allowed the weary to rest in warmth, and drove out the fearful weakness of men. (67)
It devoured its weakest prey first, then spread and seized the other herbs. (240)
Since the Wah had not endured any significant cataclysms — the type of disaster that other kinds of men had withstood — their physical growth as a people stopped, and they remained willowy and weak. They did not seem to suffer from their physical shortfalls, but rather compensated with their penchant for collaboration. Even with this single notable talent, it was a wonder these willowy people were able to withstand the harshness of a pitiless world. (232)
They laid these in heaps, making piles to cover their scents — a deceptive ploy used by man that exceeded the tricks of the craftiest deer and the wisest wolf. (93)
Naoh stood up with a hungry roar. Second only to a victory over a wild carnivore, nothing was more glorious than to kill one of these great herbivores. The Oulhamr instinctively felt in his heart the benefit of dominating the great oxen. His determination increased as the bull’s massive chest and glistening horns approached. But the Oulhamr simultaneously evoked another, contrary instinct: not to destroy nourishing flesh in vain. (55)
At least he felt the virtue of having never given thanks, of having always avoided the spiteful traps of the vanquished. (284)
Reverence for the strongest dwelt in the depths of her flesh. (287)
The lion-tiger began to crack the tiger’s ribs when the tigress arrived. Hesitant, she smelled the hot flesh, saw the defeat of her male, and uttered a mournful meowling call.
At this cry, the tiger straightened up — a supreme warlike wave fired his dying brain — but at the first step his trailing bowels stopped him, and he remained motionless, his limbs fainting, his eyes still full of life. The tigress instinctively measured what energy remained within the one who had so long shared his catch, had protected her and their litters, and had bravely defended the species against innumerable threats.
An obscure tenderness shook her frayed nerves — she was overwhelmed with the remembrance of their shared struggles, their joys, their sufferings. Then the law of nature doused her memories as the rain snuffs a flame. (61)
By this time, the urus had wandered back to the forest. The urus was uncertain of its safety, especially when it lost sight of the tiger when it disappeared into the reeds. The urus decided to take refuge, but as it was retreating a terrible odor hit his nostrils. He craned his neck and, now convinced of its danger, searched for a line of flight. Its path led it close to the jagged rocks where the Oulhamr lay. The human scent reminded him of an attack in a past season when, still young and puny, he had been wounded by a human’s projectile, and so he turned away again as a precaution. (57)
Any Kzamms who were in the way — from the Great River to the mounds and to the ash wood — were reduced to bloody mud. (174)