I arrived at the billet, taking the back of the station’s grey mare. She was straight-backed and strong, at least sixteen hands high, and jumped the woodheap effortlessly. It was good to be putting distance between myself and the station, as I pressed my feet in the stirrups and galloped through the boggy speargrass flats.
The sun pressed itself on the sky, turning the air humid and syrupy as the wet land steamed all around. I raced over the man ferns, shaking out raindrops, and was soon on the track to the headland gorse. The raw yellow of the beach was visible far below. Gannets and albatrosses fished out beyond the cliff edge in the darkness of the deep and green sea. The island looked calm now the sun had shown, and then the stillness was disturbed.
The grey stiffened her shanks and
