be following the wagons by scent.” Snapper was carefully looking at the trees lining the distant creek: tall, heavy trees, signifying a steady water supply. “If there’s enough water flowing, we might be able to shake them by driving the wagons downstream.”
The birds were tiring. Onan muttered, and Snapper reached forward to feed him a salty cracker unasked.
“OK boy. Good birdie. We gotta run now.”
The bird fluffed out its crest. “Sleepy now.”
“No sleepy – we’ll get eaten.”
“No eat birdie.”
“No eat birdie? Well we have to run down to the creek now. Good boy.”
Onan nodded. “Good birdie.”
“Come on! Then salty crackers.”
Snapper sent Onan running down slope towards the far distant creek. Behind her, Beau hammered his heels into his riding budgerigar, but the tired, irritable creature hunkered down and refused to budge. Unexpectedly it changed its mind though, shooting forward at a furious pace, Beau holding on like grim death as the bird ran wildly off on Onan’s tail. They raced down the gravel scree, past a stand of grass trees that flung rocks towards them in irritation, and dropped back into scrub and weeds. Heads down, tired and panting, the two birds ran across the hard packed dirt. They swerved and flitted past mounds of strawberry termites, then plunged into the thick tree line beside the hidden creek. They pushed past some rather alarming knobby fat plants, pierced a dense band of bushes, and found themselves beneath tall trees that smelled oddly of eucalyptus and passionfruit.
The creek bed was wide, deep, and had a considerable run of slow-moving water – brown furze on the bottom, and clear water on the top. The banks had been carved down through red soil and rock. Downstream, they grew even taller, towering three metres above the water. Onan ran along the bank upstream, finally finding a place shallow enough to admit a wagon. He plunged down the sharp bank, sending red soil cascading around them. Snapper leapt out of the saddle, legs cramped and backside stiff as wood – but drove ever onward. The shark took her mattock and attacked the rim of the bank, hacking soil down to make a pathway for the wagons. Behind her, Beau rode his bird into the water to test the depth, finding it only thirty or forty centimetres deep. His bird began to dip its beak, and Snapper looked back to shout a warning.
“No – don’t let your bird drink! It’ll cramp! They have to cool down first.” She hacked a last few chunks of riverbank away. “There we go. That should do it.”
They rode up the opposite bank then headed off into the plains beyond for five hundred metres – then backtracked as swiftly as they could. The two riders clambered back up the levelled bank and out through the trees, facing east and blinking into the brilliant rising sun.
Beau winced, shading his eyes.
“What if they don’t see us?”
“They’ll see us.” The shark drew her sabre and used the broad blade to reflect the sun to signal the wagons. “Throckmorton knows his job.”
The wagons were coming, kicking up a great deal of dust. The heavy dray beasts lumbered along at a clumsy canter, jouncing the wagons along behind them. There was a dreadful bounce and shatter of trade goods – clashing metal and glass.
Snapper rode forward away from the trees and waved her jacket, and it seemed that Throckmorton caught sight of her. The hard-working plant was not the swiftest flier in the skies – even with all six wings hammering he was only slightly faster than the wagons. But the exhausted plant led the way, and Snapper raced forward to curve about and ride beside the lead wagon. Tammin – his scaly skin covered in dust – was urging his dray beasts onwards, prodding the hefty rodents with a pole. Snapper yelled up at him, making sure he understood to head into the water and turn downstream.
“That way! Go go go go go!”
Snapper then rode the length of the wagon train, weaving them on towards
The birds were tiring. Onan muttered, and Snapper reached forward to feed him a salty cracker unasked.
“OK boy. Good birdie. We gotta run now.”
The bird fluffed out its crest. “Sleepy now.”
“No sleepy – we’ll get eaten.”
“No eat birdie.”
“No eat birdie? Well we have to run down to the creek now. Good boy.”
Onan nodded. “Good birdie.”
“Come on! Then salty crackers.”
Snapper sent Onan running down slope towards the far distant creek. Behind her, Beau hammered his heels into his riding budgerigar, but the tired, irritable creature hunkered down and refused to budge. Unexpectedly it changed its mind though, shooting forward at a furious pace, Beau holding on like grim death as the bird ran wildly off on Onan’s tail. They raced down the gravel scree, past a stand of grass trees that flung rocks towards them in irritation, and dropped back into scrub and weeds. Heads down, tired and panting, the two birds ran across the hard packed dirt. They swerved and flitted past mounds of strawberry termites, then plunged into the thick tree line beside the hidden creek. They pushed past some rather alarming knobby fat plants, pierced a dense band of bushes, and found themselves beneath tall trees that smelled oddly of eucalyptus and passionfruit.
The creek bed was wide, deep, and had a considerable run of slow-moving water – brown furze on the bottom, and clear water on the top. The banks had been carved down through red soil and rock. Downstream, they grew even taller, towering three metres above the water. Onan ran along the bank upstream, finally finding a place shallow enough to admit a wagon. He plunged down the sharp bank, sending red soil cascading around them. Snapper leapt out of the saddle, legs cramped and backside stiff as wood – but drove ever onward. The shark took her mattock and attacked the rim of the bank, hacking soil down to make a pathway for the wagons. Behind her, Beau rode his bird into the water to test the depth, finding it only thirty or forty centimetres deep. His bird began to dip its beak, and Snapper looked back to shout a warning.
“No – don’t let your bird drink! It’ll cramp! They have to cool down first.” She hacked a last few chunks of riverbank away. “There we go. That should do it.”
They rode up the opposite bank then headed off into the plains beyond for five hundred metres – then backtracked as swiftly as they could. The two riders clambered back up the levelled bank and out through the trees, facing east and blinking into the brilliant rising sun.
Beau winced, shading his eyes.
“What if they don’t see us?”
“They’ll see us.” The shark drew her sabre and used the broad blade to reflect the sun to signal the wagons. “Throckmorton knows his job.”
The wagons were coming, kicking up a great deal of dust. The heavy dray beasts lumbered along at a clumsy canter, jouncing the wagons along behind them. There was a dreadful bounce and shatter of trade goods – clashing metal and glass.
Snapper rode forward away from the trees and waved her jacket, and it seemed that Throckmorton caught sight of her. The hard-working plant was not the swiftest flier in the skies – even with all six wings hammering he was only slightly faster than the wagons. But the exhausted plant led the way, and Snapper raced forward to curve about and ride beside the lead wagon. Tammin – his scaly skin covered in dust – was urging his dray beasts onwards, prodding the hefty rodents with a pole. Snapper yelled up at him, making sure he understood to head into the water and turn downstream.
“That way! Go go go go go!”
Snapper then rode the length of the wagon train, weaving them on towards
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