"Such as?"

"Let us continue our game."

"What about the fate of the human race? You said—"

"... And save the small talk for later."

"I hardly consider the destruction of humanity to be small talk."

"And if you've any more beer ..."

"All right," Martin said, retreating to his pack as the creatureadvanced, its eyes like a pair of pale suns. "There's some lager."

Something had gone out of the game. As Martin sat before the ebonhorn on Tlingel's bowed head, like an insect about to be pinned, herealized that his playing was off. He had felt the pressure themoment he had seen the beast—and there was all that talk about animminent doomsday. Any run-of-the-mill pessimist could say it withouttroubling him, but coming from a source as peculiar as this ...

His earlier elation had fled. He was no longer in top form. AndTlingel was good. Very good. Martin found himself wondering whetherhe could manage a stalemate.

After a time, he saw that he could not and resigned.

The unicorn looked at him and smiled.

"You don't really play badly—for a human," it said.

"I've done a lot better."

"It is no shame to lose to me, mortal. Even among mythicalcreatures there are very few who can give a unicorn a good game."

"I am pleased that you were not wholly bored," Martin said. "Nowwill you tell me what you were talking about concerning thedestruction of my species?"

"Oh, that," Tlingel replied. "In the morning land where thosesuch as I swell, I felt the possibility of your passing come like agently wind to my nostrils, with the promise of clearing the way forus—"

"How is it supposed to happen?"

Tlingel shrugged, horn writing on the air with a toss of the head.

"I really couldn't say. Premonitions are seldom specific. In