A succulent goat turned slowly on a spit ; globules of fat dripped into the fire like lead from the roof of a burning building seeping into the inferno below . The flares of sizzling fat sent up from the fire shot slivers of light across the cool , inky depths of his eyes that were otherwise devoid of light and all pity . Those eyes yielded to a single law : the law of fang or famine . For the savannah offers all life two options : eat or be eaten ; survive or fall ; act fast or be outrun . No great beast has yet lived that could avoid her indifferent dilemma , for she is the canvas on which they are compelled to paint their existence , and it is for this reason that no man should ever turn his back on her long grass eyelashes when dusk approaches .
Every fibre and muscle in his body tensed , he slid up the back of the boulder until he was prone on its rounded summit , now with some ten meters of elevation on his side . He lay flat as the cool , soothing hand of dusk caressed the camp ’ s atmosphere ; but her touch was an illusion , just as the calm is before a mighty thunderstorm breaks , marking the end of the dry season .
A primordial force shot through his hind legs propelling him towards the goat . Men , women and children were parted in a blur and the goat was gone . As the warriors grabbed their spears all that confronted them was the grass dancing with the wind .