She slunk into sight of the herd and shut her eyes against the dizzying combination of stripes and movement. They nervously chewed on grass and vegetation, the young ones herded close and center. Though unusually small for a zebra herd, she had to squint to make out individuals, then categorically evaluate each of them as prey prospects. That one, too spirited. The corner animal, too flighty. That one too bulky to drag back to Kyaa Plott. She needed it lean, easy to make out, with some weakness to speak of.

Doubt. With no easy targets, no sick or straggling, could she really take one down herself? It was as if they had been warned: the herd shut itself in tightly, grazing only within immediate sight of the others. Nothing could be done. Steeling herself, she lay down, head resting on her paws, and waited. And watched. And waited.