They waited at the mouth of Limberlost’s driveway, Ned with an armful of rabbit skins, his father with a ledger in his hands. Soon dust rose over a low rise, and Jackbird’s father’s off-white truck rolled into view. When it stopped beside them Ned’s father got into the cab and Ned climbed into the tray. The truck lurched forward, and Ned braced himself as the orchards and river began receding. Rocks spat from the road into dry ditches.

In Beaconsfield they parked near the market. The men arranged to meet back at the truck an hour later, once they had finished their errands. Ned wasn’t sure if his father was going to come with him to sell the skins, wasn’t sure if he wanted him to. Jackbird’s father strode away from them. Ned’s glanced at his ledger, then at his son.

‘Don’t be late. Don’t get cheated.’

He strode into the market. Ned felt a blink of coldness, before wriggling it off and making his way to Old Singline’s shop.

Singline was a bastard about money but he was always buying. Ned had sold pelts to him the previous summer, when he’d begun hunting and trapping alone. He could sell directly to the army, but that would require travelling into Launceston, which was not possible without asking someone a favour that he knew was too great for his father to approve of. And while Singline—a man made mostly of lint, capillaries and brandy vapour—had haggled and pontificated until the afternoon turned stale, he had paid in cash. Ned figured him the easiest option, and perhaps his only one, although he was determined not to let that show in his negotiations.

He found the shop, straightened his pile of pelts, and pushed through the near-weightless door.

Afterwards, he wondered why he’d been nervous, why he’d felt the need to deepen his voice. Inside he’d found Singline a much-diminished figure. Perhaps he was ill; perhaps he was particularly hungover. Perhaps he had sons or nephews in uniform, or perhaps the war was wearing on him, the way it was with everyone. Ned didn’t find out, didn’t try to. He asked a fair price and, after an inspection and the briefest quibble about trap damage and pelt lustre, Singline agreed to it. Ned left the shop with a heavy pocket and a rush of feeling. Immediately he was doing calculations: how many could he kill, how much could he make.