‘The important thing is to learn from them. And cultivate the art of forgiveness—like your Grandma. It’s a generous act. You could use a bit of forgiveness with your father.’

This caught Leon off-guard. ‘Forgive him for hitting Mum? I don’t think I can.’

‘Is he still doing it?’

‘Mum says not.’

‘Has she forgiven him?’

‘She’s still living with him.’

‘I suppose that’s forgiveness. Maybe you should let it go.’

Leon wasn’t ready for forgiveness. ‘I’ll think about it,’ he said, inclining his head towards Grandpa’s door. ‘You’d better get back to Glenys or she’ll give you up for dead.’

A twinkle returned to Grandpa’s eyes. ‘Not likely. We’ve still got an hour before dinnertime.’

20

20

After the logging was suspended, strangers started passing through town. They stopped in the takeaway shop: city people in khaki-coloured clothes with binoculars strung round their necks. Miki heard their murmurs about the eagles’ nest. Word must have got out. And the bird nuts—as Kurt called them—were coming to find it.

Kurt didn’t like the thought of people snooping around in the forest. It made him edgy. He wanted to check the beehives hadn’t been tampered with, so on Monday they rugged up in coats and beanies, and piled into the new ute, hoping the weather would lift on the way.

The logged area was misty and desolate as they drove through it, curtains of rain sweeping the wide open space. To Miki, it still felt like death. She couldn’t stop thinking about the animals that had lived there: birds and possums hiding in old hollow trees. Where had they gone when the machines came through? Some of the birds might have flown away, but what about the nocturnal creatures? Likely they had been crushed as their trees were knocked to the ground. It made Miki feel ill.

The ute sloshed over wet ground, squelching through divots and puddles. The machines were still there, upslope; Miki saw them through shrouds of drizzle. They were halfway up the hill, wet and silent: great hulking metal skeletons waiting for drivers to bring them to life. Miki couldn’t wait for them to be gone—while they remained, there was a possibility they might resume their work.

At the eagles’ tree, Kurt pointed out tyre marks in the mud and footprints where people had trampled around the base of the trunk. The tyre marks disappeared after that, so it seemed nobody had ventured further into the forest. Miki hoped her large old tree was still safe.

They parked in their usual spot, and Kurt agreed to check the big tree before inspecting the hives. They walked towards it through the dripping forest. And there it was, rearing unharmed into the clouds. But something small and silver glinted at its feet. A Turkish Delight wrapper. Miki’s gut clenched.