Chapter 11
Lockie strode towards them along the half-finished fence line, hair turned to bronze by the strong light. Occasionally he tested the wire’s tension with an expert flick of his finger. He looked good, fitter than ever, and since his promotion to station manager, there was a newfound authority in his bearing.
Her father acknowledged Lockie with a nod, then stared down at the shallow soupy water. ‘I remember,’ he said, ‘before the dam up at Hopeton. Before the droughts and the carp and the irrigators . . . well, you could see the bottom of the river. Like glass, the water was. You could see the yabbies and the dragons chasing after them. You could see the catfish building nests, guarding little pebble rings on the riverbed.’
‘Catfish have been gone for years,’ said Nina.
‘You
