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run away. Jump in the ditch with both feet.'
    Two massive
shapes darkened the stars and
    toppled towards the Oms, as Brave's voice was shouting:
    'Fight! Bite their legs, bite them everywhere!
    Fight!'
    Two muffled
thuds shook the ground amongst screams of terror.
    'Trample all
over them', said a Traag's voice. 'Fight!'
    The fast
beam swept across old Faithful's grey face as he was slumped next to Terr. The
teenager just had time to see the old man's body squashed to a bloody pulp. The
Traags' heavy voices dropped down from above:
    'They bite! But... rascals!'
    'Trample,
trample!'
    A flabby
crushing was levelling the bottom of the ditch. As if in a frightful dream Terr
leapt from the hole and came up against a Traag's hand leaning on the curb. He
bit it with all his strength, felt himself blown off towards the stars. His jaw
was shaken as he flew into the distance with a piece of flesh in his teeth.
    He rolled on
the grass, wondered if he was dreaming as all around him screaming shadows were
charging towards the battle site.
    'Jump on
them, bite! Come on you Oms!'
    He
recognized the hoarse voice of the old lady from the bush and took fresh heart.
He ran limping to the bloody ditch and got lost in thunderous violence, biting
a throbbing mass collapsed across the embankment as the road shook with the
sound of running away, then further away, and further...
    'Puncture
the eardrums! Bite! The other one's
    running away! Come on you Oms!'
    He bit fiercely
on a soft surface, his ears buzzing with murderous madness. He then felt
silence fall, a strange kind of silence, both victorious and horrifying.
    'The Traag
is dead', a voice said. 'The other ran away!'
    The Oms
looked for each other in the night, counting. Names were called out:
    'Brave!
Where's Brave?'
    He was found
in the mud, hardly recognizable. A voice, the old lady's, asked for silence.
All eyes turned towards the bent and wiry shape standing on the embankment.
    'Big Tree
Oms', she said, 'without us you'd all be dead. Let's group together all of us.
But let's not forget we've just killed a Traag. We must leave now!'
    Babies were
crying. A female Om was moaning over a small corpse.
    'Quiet,
women!' the old lady shouted out. 'I too lost my son in this, but what is done
is done. Pick up your dead and let's clear off, come on!'
    She crossed
the road followed by a group of wounded Oms. They disappeared into the night.
    After a
hundred steps or so, Terr turned around. On the battlefield he saw the defeated
Traag's head tilted back and facing the stars. The two red eyes were slowly
losing their natural luminescence.
    Terr caught
up with his people, his teeth chattering.

PART TWO

1
    The First
Councillor for Continent A North stretched his
membranes. He cast an eye on his axillary dial and puffed impatiently. Leaving
the table he paced up and down his work loggia.
    What a
strange visit. What could Master Singh want from him? He recalled the latter
had invoked urgency to get this appointment.
    He had
barely paced the room twice when a voice came from the interphone, announcing
the eminent visitor.
    'Let him
in!' the First Councillor ordered sharply.
    He opened
the door to honour Master Singh, one of the continent's great naturalist
scientists.
    When he
appeared, the Councillor greeted him respectfully.
    'Happiness onto you, Master. Come in and
make yourself comfortable.'
    'Happiness
onto you, First Councillor, I am delighted to see you.'
    Having
exchanged polite remarks, the two Traags lay down facing each other on comfortable
mattresses.
    'You
mentioned urgency?' the First Councillor said slowly, anxious to mask his
nervousness.
    He thought:
"Old madman, what elaborate idea could have formed in your brain?"
    'Indeed',
the old man's horse throat groaned. 'I am not going to beat about the bush. I
demand immediate measures against the Oms.'
    'The Oms?'
wondered the Councillor.
    'Yes, the
situation is becoming worrying. Rest assured , I am not
encroaching on your remit. Meddling with