The cry of "Demon Horses!" sent a wave of raw panic through the gathered villagers. People started to run, their faces masks of terror.
But the older hunters, men disciplined by a lifetime of facing the jungle's horrors, stood their ground.
They quickly formed a defensive line, ushering the women and children behind them, their hands gripping the worn handles of their axes and spears, ready to sell their lives dearly.
But to their astonishment, the monsters didn't charge. They descended from the sky with a strange, unnatural grace and landed softly on the ground outside the village wall. They were calm, almost serene.
A woman in the crowd pointed a trembling finger. "Wait," she shouted, her voice filled with disbelief. "There are people riding them!"
Everyone looked up, their fear momentarily forgotten, replaced by a profound, jaw-dropping shock. At the head of the flying formation, riding the largest of the beasts, was their chief, Ricky.
