But there they were. Three massive shaggy eagles roosting in a patch of silver wattle: two dark adults and their lighter-brown offspring. The chick sat slightly separate from its parents, even though he was as large as them now, and as strong. Miki remembered the first time she’d seen him, his bald head bobbing at the edge of the nest, his body all soft with white down. Living so high, he could easily have fallen, but somehow he’d known not to move from his nest. In three months he’d changed from a fluffy chick to an enormous fierce bird with hooded brow, ragged cloak and hooked beak. What amazed Miki most was how he’d known when it was time to leave the nest. Had his parents told him, or had he just known his wings were ready? She wondered if humans could know too.

Near the nest tree, she sat on the damp ground to watch the birds and listen to the forest. The eagles knew she was there; they observed her carefully, peering along their severe black beaks, then jerking and swivelling their heads to check other sounds. The trees shifted constantly. Breathing. Sighing. Squeaking when two pieces of wood rubbed together.

Miki heard a sharp crack somewhere and a loud rustle as a branch fell. Simultaneously, the eagles gathered themselves, crouched forward and launched into the air, feathery legs trailing. With heavy wingbeats, they climbed skywards, finding gaps between branches as they gained height. For several moments they disappeared, then Miki saw them aloft against the grey clouds, their finger-tipped wings spread wide, wedge-shaped tails like rudders driving the arc of their spirals on the wind. Free.

She was euphoric. The eagles were the best birthday present ever.

24

24

At Tuesday night footy training after the forest festival, the vibe wasn’t good, and Leon felt as much on the outer as when he’d first joined the team. Negativity was coming off Mooney in waves, and Leon figured they were blaming him because he’d been there when the tussle broke out over the machines. They had to blame someone, he supposed. But it annoyed him—was he always going to cop it just because they needed a scapegoat?

To avoid Mooney, he positioned himself on the far side of the pack during the warm-up. But the blond man was crazy, and tonight he was boiling with the kind of fury that could end in a broken nose—Leon’s, not Mooney’s. Evasion was a fine plan, but throughout the session Mooney kept bumping into him, shoving and muttering, ‘What’s wrong, Parkie? Can’t stay on your feet?’ Leon picked himself up and went on as if nothing had happened, but inside he was seething. When Mooney blatantly thumped him in the guts during a drill and nobody said anything, it was the last straw. ‘Fuck off, Mooney,’ Leon said loudly when he’d regained his breath.