“Look,” Grace whispered. “A black robin.” She lifted her camera to snap a picture. They’d taken a tiny ferry to Ulva Island, and now she and Cullen wandered the quiet forest paths, searching for rare native birds that inhabited the pest-free island. “Bother.” She lowered her camera as the bird flitted away to land on a high branch of a totara tree. “Did you get the shot?”
“Nope,” Cullen said. “They’re too quick.”
“I’d say shy,” Grace replied as they ambled onward, often stopping to study the rimu trees and other natives such as karaka and puriri with their broad branches and leaf cover blocking the sunshine. Ferns brushed their legs while the fallen leaves on the path crunched beneath their boots. Birds sang, and each time they spotted one, they halted for photos and sometimes consulted
