The Broken World Book One - Children of Another God by T C Southwell

unison, their chests swelled and burst open,
blossoming into flowers of pale, iridescent delicacy filled with a
soft, pulsing glow. The flowers puffed out fine, glittering
filaments, merging in a golden cloud of pollen as the beasts
pressed together in a quick movement, then dropped to all fours
again.
    The flowers,
open only for the moment of pollination, wilted and shrivelled, the
petals dropped off and the skin sealed once more. The flowers'
exotic scent drifted to Chanter on the still air, a strangely
familiar fragrance, even though he had not smelt it before. The
pair walked away together, then stopped to push their pointed legs
into the soil and spread their wings, settling down to feed.
    A pair would
breed twice, maybe three times, in their lives. No more offspring
were needed in a world where creatures only died of old age or the
occasional accident. Chanter compared them to Truemen's savage
predators, whose swift, graceful forms were good to wear, but their
cruel ways repulsed him. Trueman animals had to breed at an
extraordinary rate to keep their races from extinction, since they
were hunted or died from starvation and disease. It seemed an
unfortunate life path; an endless cycle of mating, feeding,
birthing and dying, all to feed others, or to keep others from
overpopulating the world. Truemen had, for the most part, opted out
of this cycle, but although they were rarely preyed upon, they
still bred at a remarkable rate.
    Shamarese
animals bred late in life and died after their final offspring was
fully grown. They enjoyed their lives, explored and learnt, sang
under the moon and played in the sun, never knowing prey's terror
or hunter's hunger. They possessed profound knowledge and were at
one with their world, with no need to reshape or ravage it. Sadly,
they were now forced to live in the Lakes to escape Trueman
savagery. Most of the beasts here were not breeding, just living in
safety.
    Chanter looked
around for Nog, who had wandered off to play with another of his
kind. The Mujar sighed, saddened that here, amongst his kind, he
was almost an outcast, welcomed, yet wearing an enemy's form. The
stifling calm engendered a creeping lethargy that made him want to
stretch out in the sun and close his eyes, but the cold of Dolana
prevented him. He gazed at the rainbow beasts again, frowning.
There was something odd about them, but he was unable to fathom it.
He watched Nog play with his friend for a while, then turned to
study the basking beasts again.
    Some wandered
about, talking to neighbours in their hooting speech, others played
with their young or indulged in mutual grooming with their mates.
Then it struck him. Only three kinds of rainbow beasts were here,
all of whom drew nourishment through their root legs and
occasionally ate mud. A few predators like Nog moved amongst them,
but no others. Curious, he sent a ripple through the Dolana to Nog,
rather like throwing a pebble to catch someone's attention. Nog
slouched over with his swaying gait, settled on his haunches beside
Chanter and tilted his head in a quizzical fashion.
    "Where are the
rest of our people?" Chanter asked.
    "Not here," Nog
said. "This Lake is not suitable for plant eaters. There are no
edible plants here. Even the grass is poison, and I wouldn't advise
anyone to try to eat one of those animal hunters."
    "Of course. I
should have guessed."
    "Most of the
plant eaters are in the Lake of Joy, which is filled with food.
Great fruits the size of a Lowman house grow there, and there's
only one species of native beast, similar to a clandar, but much
bigger."
    Nog named a
Shamarese beast that spent most of its life as a fat,
pearly-skinned grub that fed on fruits and tubers. It metamorphosed
into a winged creature that looked a lot like a massive transparent
flower. When they blossomed, they performed a complicated aerial
ballet during which the males released their pollen, then the
females laid their eggs and they all died - a little like