FLAMER
This is a modern Australian tale collectively created by my students in a term-long teacher-education course on Storywriting I conducted in 1980. Most of the students became, in time, talented story-creators in their own right.
This story may happen anywhere, any time, it may have happened already. Somewhere in the center of this vast wide land the blazing sun was setting in the west, drawing the heat of another day beyond the horizon. The small mob of kangaroos grazed quietly in the soft, violet shadows of the long, red sand dunes. Some lowered their heads to drink from the tranquil waterhole. Now and then one would lift its soft nose to catch the scents of the cooling, evening air. One of the kangaroos, Flamer, the largest of the mob, formed a dark silhouette as he hopped slowly along the top of the sand ridge. As he moved in front of the sun, his form momentarily disappeared into its fiery hue, and when he emerged, his fur blazed with a golden fire of its own.
His mirror-like reflection in the water was disturbed as a breeze rippled the surface and sent whispers through the hanging fronds of a solitary Waddy Tree. The other kangaroos looked up expectantly and as the night finally overpowered the last rays of the day, Flamer returned.
The mov drew closer together and Flamer looked from the Waddy Tree, to the water hole and to the saltbush.
With that he turned to the north-east and hopped at a determined pace, the mob following.
The moon was in the first quarter towards the west and as the fleeting dim shadows moved ahead of them they reminded Flamer of another journey years ago. His shadow, far sharper than in the pitiless glare of a spotlight on a battered utility, leapt wildly ahead of him until he was trapped against a barbed wire fence. He remembered the confusion – dust, fear – and especially the pain of a bullet as it nicked a neat hole in his right ear. There was an angry yell from the man behind the spotlight. Perhaps this and the deafening rifle fire aided him in leaping the fence, a height which he had never attempted before. It was then he had learnt to jump fences.
As the moon sank in the west, the mob proceeded through the darkness of night, always towards the northeast. Flamer’s mind returned to the present as he realized that the pounding of the mob was growing fainter; he slowed down to allow the weaker kangaroos to catch up. He was, after all, the largest red kangaroo in the plains. They all knew they must stay with him as he had led the mob wisely and saved them from many dangers over the years. At down they fed briefly but soon continued, breaking their usual habit of resting on the ridge-tops in the shade. By midday Flamer saw something on the horizon ahead, a long, thin, dark line, the dog fence. This was the longest fence in the world and was constructed to be impassable to large animals. It was much taller than Flamer himself. There was consternation and unrest in the mob as they grouped in front of the forbidding wire. Where could they go now?
Flamer hopped several miles both north and south looking for a hole in the fence – there was none – yet he knew he must get over. His welfare and that of the mob depended upon it. The sun was setting and an afternoon breeze sent the tumbleweeds dancing and rolling from the west until they came to an abrupt halt against the wire.
Flamer hopped onto a high, projecting ridge of sand to see the sun’s last rays, his fur blazed again in its ethereal glory. As he was returning, he saw something golden dancing towards him, still some distance away, and even his keen eyesight could not distinguish what it was. Then he saw that the golden ball was, in fact, a sun-filled tumbleweed swept along by the ever-increasing wind. He watched it as it was carried up to the top of the ridge, then to his amazement, it bounced over the fence.
He bounded off to where the tumbleweed had first appeared and as he turned to look at the fence from this new aspect, he could feel the strength of the wind on his back. Then he began to race towards the fence. With each bound his powerful legs propelled him faster and faster, with mighty strides the fence loomed closer and closer. All his attention focused now on the small sand ridge ahead. He knew that everything depended on the success of this jump. His mob watched, motionless. With all the power he could muster he leapt into the air and sailed over the dog fence, clearing it narrowly … now he was forced to continue alone.
The night found Flamer still heading northeast, leaving the rest of the mob watching anxiously through the wire far behind – and leaderless. He had a long way to go, but he knew that one day he would find them again.
Weeks later, tired but still determined, Flamer looked around at a world he had never seen before. It was raining! He crossed a wide, muddy riverbed which only hours before was dry and parched. As he penetrated more deeply into the surrounding trackless bush, the ceaseless downpour hindered his progress. He waw that it was late afternoon and feeling lost and confused, he looked to where the sun should have been setting. There was only a dull blanket of thick, grey cloud. Without the sun’s warmth and guidance, he felt empty despair. Night closed in around him.
Just before dawn he woke to the sound of a strained engine and the whining, whirring wheels of a battered utility. His heart was filled with cold anxiety, his nicked ear twitched nervously. Then an angry yell rent the air – he knew then that it was the same man as before. A white beam from the spotlight flickered through the trees, he crouched and waited, but then the sky began to lighten – dawn was breaking. There was a piping voice “Look! Over there, he must be the biggest kangaroo I’ve ever seen”.
“Stop fooling around with those binoculars” was the terse reply “and help get the truck out of here”.
“But he’s a beauty, oh his fur is so red – like fire.”
“At last, I’ve got the truck out” the man growled.
“A big one eh?” the roo shooter looked up with interest, “Your father would like that big rid skin in front of the fireplace.” With that the Ute lurched off in the direction of Flamer and he broke his cover – the chase was on.
Flamer dodged and twisted but he could not shake his pursuer; then he reached the now swollen river – he was trapped. For some odd reason the truck stopped, still some distance away.
The man cursed, then he jumped up on the back of the truck, his rifle in his hand. “Leo, bring me up the sights.” Leo handed the man the binoculars. “Leonard, I meant the telescopic sights – for the gun!” he said.
While the man was adjusting the sights, Leo saw through the binoculars a large nick in Flamer’s ear. He felt a rush of sympathy and admiration for this great red kangaroo.
The shooter’s finger pressed against the trigger.
“Not this one – let him go! Yelled Leo. The man ignored him. “Don’t! Don’t!” With that Leo pushed the man’s arm violently, the gun roared, the bullet was lost harmlessly in the tree tops. Flamer bolted past within ten yard of the truck and was gone. Leo leapt off the back of the Ute and jumped into the cabin, and waited, his jaw set. The man’s only comment was a clipped “We’re not going anywhere, we’re bogged again!” He stared in the direction that Flamer had taken. “I’m going to get that kangaroo, you won’t save him next time.”
Water was now up to the truck’s running board, gurgling happily – or was it the laughter from the mischievous face that appeared not here – now there?
“I just saw a flue fish!” exclaimed Leo.
Swirley giggled, then disappeared.
“Rubbish!” said the man.
Swirly reappeared. She considered the man with interest.
“You’re always seeing things that aren’t there” the man grumbled.
“Not here indeed!” thought Swirley. Leo looked on.
“I’ve see this man before today.
He thinks he sees the way things are,
yet here I swim and swirl and sway.
(The child can even see me play)
I’ll tie his laces to the car.”
“Try to drive it out Leo, it might go now” the man yelled.
Leo started the motor, put it into first gear and took off.
All of a sudden the man felt his legs whipped out from under him, he sailed majestically into the air for a moment before landing Splat! On his back in the mud. He sat up only to watch his boots, dancing merrily behind the lurching truck.
The rain continued through the next morning but it was hot, very hot. The bush was tangled and wet, and Flamer stumbled on the uneven ground which was now covered by a vast expanse of shallow, muddy water. Exhaustion overcame him, and he collapsed against a large, ancient Weeping Paperback Tree.
Rain was trickling off the thick canopy of leaves and Flamer heard a whispering voice coming from the tree:
“Come and play!
Swirl and swim!
I’m Swirley of the Gilfarim.”
Swirley slid down the trunk of the tree on a trickle, and disappeared, only to reappear a short distance ahead of him, beckoning. Flamer splashed after her, but to his utter dismay he fell in a hole up to his neck. Swirley swam around him.
She dived without a splash and rippled her way towards the middle of the now great body of surging water. She looked surprised as he called after her:
“I can’t follow. I can see it is too deep.”
Perplexed, he turned to search for his own way knowing now that he could not retrace his path. Swirley followed, still wanting to play. Flamer realized that Swirley would only lead him into deeper water. Taking care to avoid the places where Swirley frolicked, he soon felt the ground firming under his feet – now he could move more freely. Finally the rain stopped.
The sky seemed lighter now; Flamer looked up. The clouds thinned to idle white whisps against the cerulean blue of the tropic sky. Relieved, he searched anxiously for the sun, but could see that it was still too early in the day for it to set. He then sought higher land where he could rest and feed whilst awaiting the sunset … if only he could rest on a hilltop.
Suddenly in the distance he saw just such a hilltop, and he padded off quickly to bring his day’s journey to an end. But the sun, in a now cloudless sky, beat fiercely down onto the marshy earth, reflecting in the myriad pools that covered the plain. Soon Flamer felt the air heavy with heat.
The intense sun, reflecting from the ground beneath him, blurred his sight. What was that flickering figure that performed a wild dance before him? Here now, gone, but back again.
To his delight he bounded onto warm dry earth and reclined beneath a shady tree to await the evening. He dozed through the hottest part of the day, which was mid-afternoon, but was awakened sharply by a blast of heat. He turned away in panic but the heat persisted around his head, stifling him no matter where he turned, or how hard he tried to escape. But as quickly as it came, it was gone. Flamer stood up to look for the source of his intense discomfort. He noticed the fleeting figure again disappearing into a thick clump of higher grass and palms.
Flamer spent a pleasant night, feeding on the green shoots sprouting after the recent rains. The full moon smiled down at him. Many more nights were spent like this, and he noticed that the noon’s phases changed with serene regularity. During the hot days, however, he was not alone. Hirley darted amongst the scrub, never leaving Flamer, especially during the hottest parts of the day. At these time Hirley became increasingly agitated.
The days were hotter than Flamer had ever known. He would rest under the scant shade, licking his forepaws and standing in a hunched position to reduce the effect of the hot afternoon sun. Being completely immobile, he merged with the scattered granite outcrops. He looked like a rock.
A new day dawned, the hottest day of all. Streaks of soft crimson and scarlet, at first pale in the lightening sky, grew stronger and brighter as if an unseen hand was lifting veil after veil of darkness.
Suddenly the tree tips were bathed with a pinkish fire, like glowing candles on the still, windless plain; a silent hint of what lay hidden in the day to come.
Then the sun rose, shrouded in a thick smokey haze, deep orange, bright, round and regal.
Hirley’s wild dance increased to a frenzy as the day’s heat grew more intense, and all Flamer’s attempts to find relief was to no avail.
“Flickering dancing; flurrying flight.
Faster than fleeting, a frightening sight.
Tickling, teasing, fire and flame.
Flirting and fearful, Hirley’s my name.”
A wispy puff of smoke drifted across the face of the sun, its unusual golden-red color reminded Flamer momentarily of the mob, now so very far away. He saw small flames eagerly licking the dry grass and leaves. He wished he could return to the other kangaroos. He then panicked and rushed headlong through the scrub. The flames leapt into the undergrowth and exploded the volatile leaves of the gum trees. These now seemed to blaze with a will of their own, and they surrounded the terrified Flamer.
The encircling fire was closing in quickly – he could see no way of escape. Small jewel-like finches flew desperately away from the billowing smoke. Suddenly Flamer stumbled across a granite outcrop, and a gnarled gumtree ahead of him burst into flames. The heat almost drove him back and the smoke was blinding. Flamer could feel his fur being singed; his paws were burnt by the many sparks that were dropped by the blazing scrub. In despair and fear he made a last mighty effort and leapt blindly through the flames.
He landed upon a charred earth and for a moment he stood stunned by the sight before him. As Hirley retreated, roaring in destructive delight, Flamer looked around at a silent, smoldering and lifeless earth. The trees which only yesterday were green and flourishing were now blackened and smoking. Grey ash as still not beneath Flamer’s paws, so he headed south into a rising breeze which soon turned the fire back on itself. Gradually the flames dwindled in their losing struggle against the southerly wind and this seemed to be his way out.
The sun, itself a large glowing ember, rested briefly on the flat formless hills, and Flamer’s fur glowed golden in its majesty. He vividly recalled the mob and the reason for his journey and as he headed south through the night he doubled his determination to find help for the other kangaroos, now so very far away. Again the moon’s phases passed, but the temptation to stay at the many lush and green areas of sheltered bush was resisted.
The mountains, at first small and misty-blue on the horizon, loomed more impressively each day as he drew closer, and he felt insignificant and intimidated by their grandeur. Finally he began to climb them. He had never seen such tall thick forest and his climb became a struggle. But he eventually reached the very spine of the mountain range and he thought he could see the whole world form there. He even saw, far to the east, a flat blue expanse stretching apparently forever.
An icy wind whipped the highest branches of the gum trees on the ridge top, and churned the lowest billows of the grey wall of cloud that was fast approaching form the southeast. These then began to cloak the ridges in deep, wet mist. He smelt the approaching rain, and then it poured.
He began to descent the eastern slope of the mountain, resting in a sheltering gully of the rainforest. He felt that somebody (or something) was watching him, but the twilight was motionless. He shivered, if only he could have seen the sunset that afternoon, but mist shrouded everything. This new silent presence filled him with disquiet, and he noticed as night fell that his fur was changing from its rich, red brown to white. Something as settling on him in powdery flurries and it felt cold. The wind was blowing again and it chilled him through and through. All of a sudden he was aware of a small white angular figure sitting on a rock, it seemed as though he had been there all the time – watching. Perhaps Flamer had just not seen him.
“Who are you? Why is everything turning white, even me? Brrr. I’m so cold, aren’t you?” Flamer was mystified, “What is happening?”
Flamer felt that he was slowly solidifying – his beath was not visible as a white mist. Feeding seemed secondary to Flamer now, his main aim was to keep worm. Birley looked without emotion.
“Why jump around? You waste time. Keep shivering – and you’re dead. You cannot stay awake all night. Dreams can be a warming flight. Curl up and go to bed.”
But Flamer did not hear him, and kept hopping around in circles trying to find relief from the now intense cold. He was afraid to fall asleep, imagining that he would never awaken. Would he never see the mob again? He wondered what the other kangaroos were doing now. A stillness came over him, memories of where he had come from drifted slowly into his mind. He saw the mob clustered around their waterhole shaded beneath the Waddy Tree – he saw them gazing longingly through the dog-fence – ancient Weeping Paperbark Tree Whispered to him again – Swirley’s blue eyes flashed among the ripples – flickering flames danced fiercely before him. Flamer recoiled from the intense heat and found himself still covered in sleet – but no longer was the cold so unbearable. Knowing now that he would be more comfortable if he could find a place to sleep, he searched for a sheltered place where he was at least protected from the wind.
Under a rock ledge in the forest he curled up. He tried to picture the new home which would bring his search to an end as none of the places he had been was the garden he hoped to find. How long would his search continue? What would tomorrow bring?
Flamer slept and as the hours passed his strength returned, he awoke intermittently. Slowly he ventured out of the protection of the bush, cautiously stretching his stiff and aching limbs in the glare of the cool winter sun. He began to nibble the sparse tufts of grass around the bush and then moved tentatively towards the better growth along the creek. He tried first to drink its waters, parched after his long sleep but he found the banks too steep. He turned and limped upstream searching for a more accessible place to drink. Following the meander of the creek, he wove his way through a thicket of ti-trees and onto a pebbly flat. He drank.
A familiar sound was heard, a laboring motor, so much like the Ute he had last seen bogged in the swamp – it was the Ute!
“We’ll camp here” the man growled.
“I’ll collect sticks” said Leo.
Flamer looked behind him but there was a shear rock wall blocking his retreat. A logging track in front of him prevented him from breaking in that direction without being seen.
Leo walked straight towards him, looking for firewood, Flamer stood motionless; then Leo saw him and froze. The boy turned slowly and walked back to the Ute. Flamer expected at any moment the deafening crack of a rifle – but none came.
“Is that all you could manage?” said the man looking at the tiny handful of sticks. Did you see any game?”
“Nope” said Leo glancing back into the scrub. He hoped that Flamer would stay where he was until he could escape whilst they slept.
Some hours later the campfire died down to a dull glow. The man slept soundly. Leo crept out of his sleeping bag and scuffed around for a few minutes. More time passed, then Flamer decided that he would cover the short distance through the undergrowth out onto the road and escape by bounding into the darkness at full speed. He moved ever so carefully but he was heard.
“Something’s out there, and it’s big” said the man. He leapt out of his sleeping bag, reached for his gun case in the cabin of the Ute.
“It’s empty, where’s the gun?” he hissed. Then he saw the gun, dull with frost on the bonnet. “How did it get there?” he rasped as he grabbed it and leapt up into the back of the truck turning the spot light on in one movement. Flamer bolted down the road, the white light bounced off the snow drifts.
“This time I can’t miss.” The man pressed his finger against the trigger, Flamer, now caught in the spotlight’s beam, was right in his sights – but nothing happened.
“It’s frozen stiff!” roared the man. “Who left my gun out?”
Leo’s sleeping bag was still, apparently he had not woken in the commotion. Burley did see one small open eye peeping out above the zipper, he winked at it and it closed tightly. Burley went back and sat on a stump, relieved that he didn’t have to spend the rest of the night sitting on that gun!
Flamer knew the mountains and they presented no obstacle to his rapid progress. He noticed, of course, that the higher he climbed, the colder it became. His fur became thicker by day. He knew that Burley, that strange little white Gilfarim had become is traveling companion; he glimpsed him quite often standing motionless in the snow drifts through which he passed.
The air had changed, it was rarer and carried less information to his inquiring nose. He became quickly breathless. With the now almost total covering of white, he found difficulty in focusing in the intense glare of reflected sunlight on snow. Therefore his keen hearing had to be his guide, but in that silent world there was little to hear.
There were no trees and Flamer could find only scattered patches of grass to eat but his did not concern him greatly as did his aching eyes. He sheltered in the relieving deep shadow of a massive granite boulder and dozed off.
He was awakened by the rising full moon and looked around anxiously for the sun, but it was gone.
“Oh well, who needs it anyway.” Thought Flamer as he hopped out to fee. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful, the mountains are carpeted with soft, silver, sparkling light.” He was very happy and very hungry. Grass was scarce and could only be found at the base of the numerous granite boulders. The moon grew dim, silken veils of cloud began to obscure it until it was gone.
A heavy stillness hung like a shroud and then it began to snow – and snow – and snow – and snow – and blow – and blow – and blow – and blow. Not the soft snowfalls to which he had now become accustomed but a raging, wild, white fury. A full blown mountain blizzard.
He could cope with the cold, and he crouched on the leeward side of a boulder which held latent sun warmth.
“Maybe he will become a Burley too” thought the little white Gilfarim.
“Not if I’ve got anything to do with it” A shrill voice sounded over the swirling whiteness. Burley glanced up.
“I knew it wouldn’t be long before you came along!”
Flamer peered, looking for the source of the new voice. He could see a sparkling light-figure dancing from rock to rock hurling snowflakes wildly all over Burley and Flamer, who shook this thick fur and shivered. “I’m starving,” said Flamer “Do you know where I could get feed?”
“Who needs feed? I live on air,
I skip and skim, I breeze and blow:
There’s lots of grass beneath the snow.”
“But it’s so deep” said Flamer and he struggled off. He could make no progress so he huddled behind a rock desperately hungry until the first light of dawn. The blizzard seemed to have abated.
“Good morning” said Whirley gaily as she glittered around him. “Feeling better?”
“I’m glad the blizzard is over but I’m hungrier than ever, I must keep searching for something to eat; I feel so weak.”
Whirley, her dazzling dress shimmering after her, darted off – Flamer followed her. “She must know where I can find something.”
He felt slightly better but within an hour, when it became obvious that she was leading him nowhere, he stopped, trembling with exhaustion, he had given up. Whirley sprinkled snow confetti over him in a merry dance but soon found this solitary picture of misery to be a bore.
“You’re not much fun” she said and sparkled off to find another playmate.
Burley nodded knowingly; “She’s always the same, her life’s just a game.”
Then the sun came out in a shaft of cold, white brilliance, tinctured with orange light.
Flamer’s fur blazed with a pale orange radiance. His spirits were lifted, and he knew then where he had to go – due west. The sun set and Flamer began the hazardous descent down the mountain side. At last some hours later, he smelt green fragrant grass and herbage, and soon he was feeding happily amongst the thinning snow drifts. There was a rustling in the leaves of the painted snow gums and Flamer looked up and saw, by the soft pale moonlight, Whirley playing among the leaves – and as she said ‘Goodbye’ to him he felt a warm breeze ruffle his thick winter fur. He went on feeding happily.
Flamer was strong enough to travel now and he went west. AS the sun set over the low lunar-shaped hills, his red, thick winter coat glowed in the sunset like scarlet and mauve embers. He now knew that he must travel northwest, the sun had not abandoned him. Next day he traveled, covering many miles – the day after, and the day after that.
The country was changing from wooded hills to flat plain land. The feed was getting sparce; the day were hotter; red sand showed in ever widening patches. He could not travel in the daylight hours anymore as the heat was too intense Then there were no trees.
His direction now known, he hopped off some miles across the plain, down into a shallow waddy and there he saw it – a pool – it was muddy but it was water! He struggled toward it – all his senses were filled with the desire to drink. He was just lowering his muzzle to drink when he saw a reflection in the water – it was the truck! Flamer stood paralyzed, frozen with fear, watching the idle movement of the man and the boy preparing the evening meal. He had not been seen, the water was so tantalizingly close that he could not resist it. He drank as much as he dared, and silently melted into the night, he had just enough strength to reach Dry Droll Coolabah Tree. He promptly went to sleep. The night hours passed swiftly.
“Get the fire going, the sun will be up soon. Hey! Look at the size of these tracks – no it couldn’t be; it is. Forget breakfast, I’m going after him alone. He’s got away too often.
“Let me come” yelled Leo.
“Not a chance, nothing’s going to go wrong this time.”
The truck lurched through the water following Flamer’s tracks in the new-laid dust. Flamer heard the truck coming and leapt away, his great strength had returned. The chase was on. He heard the first rifle crack and then the dull thud as the bullet struck the Coolabah Tree right where he had been standing.
The truck motor roared as it bumped across the stones of the plain. It was gaining on Flamer who was bounding along with 8-meter leaps as fast as he’d ever gone. He turned only to the intermittent rifle fire. He knew there was no escape – no hiding place. His eyes searched the horizon; and then he saw them. Low, very low, hills – not hills, sand dunes. He headed for them; at least they may offer some protection.
“If he heads for those sand hills I’ll get him for sure;” thought the man “he can’t travel fast through the san but I can!”
At last Flamer reached the orange-red rolling dunes arrayed one after another; a sea of sand. Flamer was exhausted, he had just made the shelter of the first due, panting wildly, and disappeared.
The truck slowed down and changed into four-wheels drive. It then growled its way up the first dune throwing behind it red desert sand from all four wheels. Flamer saw the bull nose of the truck lurch over the dune almost on top of him!
The he leapt sideways – but too late, the truck struck his leg sickeningly. Then it rolled over, and came to rest on its hood, the wheels spinning in mid-air. The motor grinded away futility, like a great maimed saurian beast, its eyes smashed, and white steam shooting form its nostrils.
“Oh no!” the hoarse voice croaked from under the wreckage of the truck. The man emerged bewildered.
Flamer lay in the sand watching, his sides heaving. The man slumped in the shade of the truck. The two just watched each other. The man did not seem to be threatening now. Flamer needed rest more than anything – his leg ached. The man observed him curiously. “What a magnificent animal” he thought.
The hot day passed slowly into a glorious sunset. Its rays arched into a heaven of powder blue and mauve. Small streams of white cloud were gilded with shining gold and copper red. Flamer glanced towards the disappearing source of life, he struggled to his feet. He became one with the gold of desert and sky, a part of heaven and earth, like a molten statue of light. Sometime later he limped off into the dusk, in the direction from which he had come eastward toward the rising full moon. The man, puzzled and afraid, sensed that he had to follow. He had a raging thirst by now. The ‘watery star’ mocked him through the night yet allowed him enough light to remain behind Flamer.
Flamer meandered through the low salt-bush scrub, feeding here and there to regain his strength. He had so fear of the man now – he seemed so helpless. At dawn, the man was near collapse from thirst, dreading the thought of the blistering sun. Flamer stood nearby licking leaves; only then did the man realize that every leaf carried a heavy blanketing of dew.
After some time the man’s thirst was almost quenched. The two traveled on slowly and while his shadows were still long, Flamer sought refuge under a low, thick mulga tree. He dug himself a shallow depression in the san; the man did likewise some distance away and they both slept through the hottest hours of the day. The man woke and pondered over the past events.
In a kind of panic he decided to stay with the kangaroo; at least he had helped him to survive.
Flamer again traveled on, the man followed, but he had not gone one hundred meters when he saw his own tire tracks. His relief was great, yet a sadness touched his heart as he saw Flamer disappearing into the dusk.
Some days later Flamer saw his mob again but they were still behind the dog fence. The hopped up and down behind the fence in agitation. Flamer saw one strand of wire broken, he pushed his muzzle relentlessly against the broken wire again and again until there was a hole large enough for the smaller kangaroos to scramble through, and the rest followed.
The mob, fewer than before, were in poor condition as there was almost no feed and the waterholes were mere muddy puddles.
They were all glad to see him, their dark eyes glistened with excitement as they crouched around him. Flamer stood head and shoulders above the other, his fur was thick and shiny and the larger males stood back at the edge of the heard in respect. How had he survived so well in these hard times? They would follow him anywhere now.
Suddenly his ears picked up the sound of screeches from an approaching flock of White Cockatoos. They flapped heavily above him before crashing into the tops of the trees, where they scrambled around until they had settled. Then the drone of the truck began to fill the quiet. Flamer, startled, jerked upright. The flock heaved into the air with wild and rasping calls.
Leo’s sharp eyes flashed towards the flurry.
“Look” he shouted “down there! What’s that?”
“Only Cockatoos” called the man.
He winked and just kept on going.
Watercolor painting by Susan Whitehead.
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