THE GIFT by Chad Oliver
The swollen white sun drifted slowly down toward the horizon, more than eleven light-years from earth. Long black shadows striped the land. The shadows seemed alive, shifting with the strong winds that blew through the undulating grasses and stunted trees of the fifth planet of the Procyon system.
On that vast windswept plain that stretched away to encircling mountains of naked rock, creatures moved. There were squat and heavy-footed grass-eaters, walking slowly in dense defensive clusters. There were sleek, catlike carnivores, drinkers of the wind, prowling in pairs waiting for the night.
And there were manlike things that could not have been mistaken for men. Hairy they were, with long and powerful arms. They crouched around tiny fires in crude pithouses: round holes dug into the ground and roofed with branches and mud. They worked on their hunting spears and nursed their babies and told lengthy and intricate stories. Sometimes, they laughed. They were waiting for the winds to die.
. . .
