After a hundred metres or so, the track steepened through young skinny trees in a close-packed area of regrowth. Another two hundred metres and she came to a boundary with open country, logged sometime during the past couple of years. Tiny seedlings and woven wire grasses were pushing up through the clumpy soil. Ahead, Kurt was picking his way over the uneven ground, obviously not in a hurry. He stopped, one foot resting on a stump, a puff of smoke rising from his cigarette. He looked relaxed, the usual tightness gone from his shoulders. Miki felt awkward encroaching on his private moment. She knew him well, yet it surprised her to detect relief in his posture, a hint of softness in his face. Maybe the forest spoke to him as it did to her, gave him space to leave behind his public self and go inner. She hadn’t thought about the impact of the daily drudge on him. Maybe looking after her was a kind of pressure and responsibility from which he enjoyed a break. As she watched, he bent and fiddled with his rifle, then took aim at something uphill. A loud crack, and bark sprayed from a stump. He finished his cigarette then strode off, disappearing into the forest.

Miki waited, afraid to go further. After a while she heard hammering some distance away. The clang of metal striking metal rang through the bush, then a knocking sound. In the clearing, a currawong poked around on the ground, looking for grubs in rotting logs. He hopped towards her, staring with sharp yellow eyes.

Silence had fallen, and Miki tensed. Was Kurt about to come back this way? She couldn’t risk him finding her here, so she hurried downhill.

At the ute, she paused then continued walking. She had plenty of time: Kurt wouldn’t return for an hour, so she decided to look for the eagles. Their chick had fledged months ago, but the forest was more than a place to nest, it was also their home; they might still be about.

The nest tree was a ten-minute walk back through the forest. Miki drew cold air into her lungs and her pace quickened as she strode along the track. It was exhilarating going where she wanted, under her own steam.

When she was close to the eagles’ tree, she began searching. If the birds were there, her movements might startle them, so she slowed. The canopy was high above, but she knew the eagles often perched on branches down in the wattles, which were just starting to flower—spring was not far away. The forest was dense with dangling blanket leaf and minty Pomaderris so it was possible she might not see the birds, camouflaged in the foliage.