Love Me, Love Me Not

Tanga slowed her jog. She snuffled a low greeting and received a return snuffle from the donks in the shadows.


They questioned, as she did, the targeted slaughters. No donk herds had been attacked, none of the wild llama herds or the roaming bands of cachens - only the ranch llamas.


Always before, men had pampered the few specially bred ranch llamas, tending their fine furs throughout the year until they were shaved each spring. But these off-worlders had strange ways, unpleasantly strange.


The donks pinned their long ears, shook their furry heads and stamped the ground with a hind hoof.


Tanga twitched her nose and snorted once from each nostril. "Let's not be hasty," she answered.