For a scenic browse, and an answer-page for Guess The World...
...Kah made a sign of warning a little later, and they halted.
"We are near the evil ones' citadel," he whispered. "But the screaming trees will instantly give warning unless we are careful."
Captain Future saw ahead of them an extensive forest of the strange trees, their big leaves hanging limp.
"Walk as softly and slowly as you can," Kah was warning. "Any sudden movement will set the trees in uproar."
He led the way into the weird forest, moving on tiptoe...
Future thought he understood now, that the weird trees were so highly
sensitive to vibrations of the ground that such vibrations set off their
Edmond Hamilton, Outlaw World (1945)
...she told me about the weird, dog-like creatures. The male, exuding a scent - if you could call it that - a vapor which in the air bursts into spontaneous combustion as it combines with the atmospheric oxygen.
long we ran through what proved to be a maze of passages in the
honey-combed ground, I have no idea. Several Earth miles, doubtless.
Several times we stopped to rest, with the breezes tossing about us as I
listened, tense, to be sure the Orgs were not coming. Then at last we
emerged; and at the rocky exit I stood staring, amazed.
where we stood the ground sloped down so that we were looking out over
the top of a wide spread of lush, tangled forest. Weird jungle, rank
and wild with spindly trees of of fantastic shapes, heavy with pods and
exotic flowers and tangled with masses of vines. Beyond it, far ahead
of us there seemed a line of little metal mountains at the horizon; and
to the left an Earth-mile or so away, the forest was broken to disclose a
winding thread of little river. It shone phosphorescent green in the
half light. The storm was over now, but still the colors lingered in
the cloud sky - a glorious palette of rainbow hues up there that tinted
Ray Cummings, The Flame Breathers (Planet Stories, March 1943)
…I lay in my dark bark-tent during the sleep-period later on, and a monstrous thought was growing in my head, entangling my soft brain in sinuous, intangible tentacles. I could not evict it. It stayed. It drummed at me, this thought: To the Rim, in the Sixth Brightness, you will now go. Toward your destiny, toward where the Light Giants cavort, on the Edge of the Molten Land.
Go! In the Sixth Brightness!
On that insidious thought I was drugged to sleep – and wakened hours later with Will’s cry blasting in my ear.
“Sid! Sid! You have to get up – they’re leaving us!”
I was on my feet, my brain crystallizing into cold, calculating thought. I dressed in my whipcords, pulled my heavy shirt on, then faced Will…
“I know,” I told him grimly. “And by the Lord, they have to be stopped. They’re on their way to – hell…”
The sky was a madhouse of light. It was the Sixth Brightness.
I looked up Oro Tarkid, but already he was moving off, at the head of his tribespeople. The village was folded up, gone as if it had never existed, and there were nothing but carts, and solemn-faced Baimers, moving with giant pace off toward the brightest, fieriest spot on the horizon.
“Oro Tarkid!” I yelled, panting beside his giant stride.
He looked down at me from his great height, and it seemed as if for a moment he had to puzzle out who I was…
“The Time has come,” he said gently. “We must go now. Thus it has been for seventeen years of our time. Always we move – toward the Rim.” He paused, looked at the Rim, and I thought I saw a deadly fear twist his flat face. But it passed…
He did not look at me, but at the Rim. The titanic glory of those Sun-gorged flames seemed to light his countenance with a spiritual, inner well-being.
He raised his massive arm, shook it like a crusader.
“We shall go,” his voice thundered out in a paean of triumph. “We go – to our destiny!”
I could keep up with him no longer. I dropped behind. I fell to a sitting position, sobbing in great breaths of air, consumed with a rage that burned as fierce as the Hell toward which they were moving. I sat there, and watched them move off, swiftly, diminishing toward a great spume of cascading light on the Rim…
Ross Rocklynne, The Bubble Dwellers (Planet Stories, Fall 1945)