Date:    Sat, 18 Apr 87 22:09:40 EST
From:    HOPCRAFT
To:      HOPCRAFT
Subject: to visualizations

Visualize.

You stand on top of a copi, looking out into the golden twilight of the dry
season. Color is vanishing slowly from the world, but for the moment the grass
of the plain before you is a lightly blown sea of golds and browns, varying
slowly over the motionless, gentle waves of the hills, interrupted only by a
curving black line of a river bed, empty at this time of year but still giving
sustanance to a small grove of trees twenty feet away. A family herd of
gazelle grazes lazily nearby the river, partially submerged in the flowing sea
of grass, the lone male slightly seperated but protective, the older females
keeping their own subdued watch, none seeming at all expectant.

On the other side of the river, under a tree, a bit of motion, a group of
large, tan forms slowly stretch, lazily rise; maned forms demonstrating a
nearly perfect physique of huge, rippling muscles; smaller, but somehow more
lithe and powerful forms smoothly walking forward from the pride - two blending

quickly with the grass, one stopping to exchange a meaningful growl with four
bouncing balls of instant energy that leap forward in bounding exitement and
fervor to be dissuaded easily by the obvious disfavor of their parent.

The lithe forms quickly and silently flow forward through the grass, moving
to intercept the river where it passes nearest to the trees, crouching lower
and lower in the grass as they slink towards their destination, finally
taking position, one just on the far side of the bed, another moving further
to crouch in the grass, the third continuing just farther to stop and wait
behind the nearest tree.

The larger, impressive beasts under the tree have finally finished waking,
and move off in a different direction, on the other side of the herd, strolling

nonchalantly as if simply taking a quick trip to the river for a drink and a
bit of the night air. All four of the small, bounding, bouncing forms rush
headlong after, completely under the level of the grass and yet the most
obvious as they trip, scuffle and dash in an attempt to keep up with their
striding parents.

All this disturbance has not gone unnoticed by the more wary members of the
herd, who have slowed in their grazing and glance occaisonally over in the
direction of these great yellow forms, while as yet the hunters have seemed to
take no notice of the prey. They move confidantly across the river bed, never
pausing to look at the activities of the herd, apparently heading towards a
long distant objective which renders them oblivious to all else. And yet,
suddenly, after they have gone a little past the herd, they stop, turn, only
now noticing there could be something of more immediate interest in the world.

The lead gazelle steps quickly around in the direction of the great
beasts, giving a silent warning to his charges which the older females have
already started to put into effect by herding the young towards the other side.

All are a little more nervous, skittish, not knowing quite whether any danger
is present. Most know they can run fast enough to be in little danger from this

threat, but the smell of a hunter is never a good omen.

The maned forms now alter the path of their walk, moving more towards the
herd, not approaching directly but quite definately coming closer; not in any
great hurry, but causing a disproportionate effect in the uneasiness of their
targets. All are skittish - some begin to jump around a little - occaisonally
the tiny form of a baby gazelle rises above the grass on a high bounce.

The hunters fan out, accelerate to a trot - their powerful frames easily
and beutifully flowing forward, making a moving wall whose gaps are filled by
eager cubs hungry for a taste of hunting. The gazelle are much more skittish
now, many jumping nervously, most preparing for the chase in an organized
effort to protect the young, and to protect themselves against another attack.

The lions stop.

The herd does not know what is happening. They are too close, but there is
no chase. The older ones try desperately to reinstate the calmer order, but
many are jumping randomly, worriedly, scattering any defensive pattern that
may have been built. When are they going to charge?

Once again, the hunters surge forward, faster this time, breaking quickly
into a canter, a gallop, running forward at full speed, rippling muscles
propelling them forward more and more quickly. The heard breaks, runs, jumps
away confusedly, some going on each side of the forest, any hope of
cohesiveness lost minuites before.

The lions pick their targets, cutting off a part of the herd, driving them
towards the river. Those separated dash away, see their route blocked by the
sand of the river, see their route blocked by the trees forming the copse, see
an escape route, run in a last desperate effort to reach the other side of the
pass and be out in the open ...

Three lithe forms leap up, in unison. Three gazelle drop, necks broken,
into the sea of the grass. The rest turn away, dash off in any direction,
through the trees and river, not caring anymore about keeping their footing,
not caring about staying together, wanting only to be away any way possible.

The hunters stop, watch them go, let them go. Two cubs make a ridiculous
effort to catch a strong adult, fall down into the river bed, scramble out
sheepishly. The other two run forward to get a meal from the gazelle, but their

parents shoo them off as they pull the carcasses back to the tree. They can
wait. This food will last them a while.