Ned was thirty. When would the natural competence of other men come to him? He knew he had worth. Knew he had qualities that were of value. He knew the farmer had spoken truly: other men would’ve let the cow drown. But he longed to be more surefooted, for his adult self to be more resolved. To be a person who was complete. He thought of the Pairelehoinner: how they’d hunted the land he was leaving for longer than the empires of Europe had existed. Thought of the wisdom associated with such a thing. He thought of how his father could throw a boatshed together, in secret, easy as ripping off a rabbit’s skin.

12

12

‘SHOW ME.’

Ned led his father from the boatshed to higher ground. Dread slowed his steps. Behind him the old man was voiceless, heavy-footed. The muted kindness that had pulsed from him at the shore was gone; now all Ned could feel at his back was tight menace. He tried to think of ways he could distract his father, free the quoll. Came up with nothing.

They passed Maggie, hacking at a towering thistle with a hoe. She looked up as they went by. Read something in their quiet march. Ned kept his head down.

Inside the shed he walked to the crate. His father was at his back. Still his mind scrambled for ways out.

‘Let’s see it.’

Ned hoped the quoll would escape on its own. That when he touched its timber cage it would bunch its legs, and when he removed the lid it would fly up and out, past Ned and his father before they could move, hitting the dirt and sprinting for the gap in the door, its paw strong, its speed impossible.

But when he prised open the crate he found it groggy and docile. A clump of dried yolk hung on its whiskers. Energy left Ned’s body, and his dread intensified, pooling in every inch of him. The quoll yawned, showing the bright daggers of its bite. Its coat was glossy, its spots snowy, its footpads pink and firm. At least it was healthy, he thought. At least it had experienced a last flourish of strength.

His father regarded it for a moment before grabbing an old axe handle. Ned felt his pulse craze. His father hefted the tool. Ned wanted to shout, but found that he couldn’t. When it noticed Ned’s father, the quoll stiffened.