Been going over the manuscript, wanted to get this bit down. Like you do.
We smelled the not-cows before we saw them, although not before we heard them. At least I smelled not-cows: Oft and the Anticipant just started gagging from the reek. “What in the name of the Hunter is that?” Oft asked, as he hawked and spit.
I sympathized, and kept the grin off my face. Trying to get the rotting-grass stench of ripe not-cow out of your nose isn’t fun, the first time you come across it. But eventually you get used to it. Besides, it doesn’t stick to your clothes or hair. “Remember the not-cows? That’s what they smell like. The herd we saw earlier must be nearby.” I frowned. “But they don’t normally come too close to human encampents” — and that’s when the Anticipant tackled the both of us. Actually, that makes it sound too professional, or something. What she did was dive at our lower legs, knocking us both off-balance and leaving us sprawled on the grass.
But that was a good thing, because not two seconds later a God-damned tree went whirring through the air, at what would have been just above head-height. Maybe it would have missed our actual heads. Maybe. Just as happy not to have to find out, you know what I mean?