Dagger-mouth focused all he could on his ears and nostrils. Sound and scent — they would do the trick.
There now. Ready. Go for it.
ATTACK!
Dagger-mouth tried.
His brain told and told his muscles to go.
But coldness was taking over now.
The prey had moved.
Dagger-mouth was not certain which way it had gone.
King of the hunters.
Not lurking now.
Out hunting.
Yes, focused and poised to attack — that’s what he was.
But what was it that he was focused on again?
* * *
Splash.
A crocodile went into the water and swam away.
From a reed, somewhere between the blanket of dust and the water, a lone frog began to call.
Croak, croak.
Then, softly at first, from across the pool, a second frog replied with its song of life.
Croak, croak. Croak, croak. Croak, croak …
Attack! Page 2