Archive of Our Own

There, beyond the leas, beyond the sweeping fields of gold, the hills hide it - a writhing trench, rolling over itself towards the sea. The river cracks and splits and branches along the surface, reaching across the plains for more, more, more. It is never satisfied.

And when the sky falls, it feasts on the rain, swelling, surging forward, outwards. Flooding. 

Drowning.

~

The paddocks beside Miles passed in a blur of golden-brown, the crops so thin that he could see the rows in between, bared to the dimming sunlight. They rustled against each other, and he shuddered at the faint, dry sound. It didn’t matter that he and Joe had been here nearly three months — Miles hated Bila Bila just as much as he had the first week.

It wasn’t the people or anything. They were fine, he supposed. But it was more the principle of the entire situation, and the principle was that Miles thought he would lose it if he had to bike down that little dusty street onto that little gravel driveway and into that little stupid house.

Which Miles was doing right now, actually, and had done every day, and he hadn’t lost it yet. But it was a close thing. The bitumen under his front wheel dipped, and he had to swerve around another pothole, nearly veering onto the dead grass. Sweat dripped down his neck, chilling instantly in the early August breeze. It felt like the boat, wind whipping across his skin against the sea-spray. Only, there was no salt smell. There was only dust.

Miles hadn’t liked Bruny Island any better than Bila Bila, but at least it had been on the coast. At least it had been green with life and turquoise blue in the water and grey with rain and mist, with the gentle waves of Cloudy Bay swelling and falling like his own breath. Here, it was only brown and dusty and dry. Only the budding canola plants were slightly less dry in their own isolated fields near the river, pale shoots peeking through.

He liked the Murray. It was deep, the muddy water unpretentious and soothing. But it was no ocean; there were no waves to surf, no swell and surge of raw, dangerous power. Only the tireless pull of the current, which would take Miles to the sea if he followed. They shared the same heart, drawn towards the shoreline. That was why Miles liked it.

He was jealous of it, too.

~

The drive from Melbourne to Bila Bila had been about three hours, give or take. Joe’d gone out one morning with Uncle Mike and Sammy, and returned around noon in a different car, some second-hand Hilux that had definitely seen better days. Aunt Laura made them lunch, and kept the conversation going even when Miles wouldn’t (couldn’t) speak.

They packed it all up a few days later, destined for a hapless town on the cusp of the Murray. His brother had lined everything up, a place and a job and the whole works, within barely two and a half weeks. Miles had hardly taken out his clothes from the suitcase before putting them back, the guest room nearly untouched. Joe stuffed their bags in the back of the car and they were off, their uncle and cousins waving from the front door.

“Stay in touch,” Mike had said, handing them his landline number. There was a look in his eyes, like he wanted them to stay another fortnight or forever but couldn’t figure out how to ask. “If you need anything- it’s the least I can do for Katie’s boys. You look just like her.” Then he’d wiped his eyes and, after squeezing their shoulders, watched them go.

Then they were rattling down the Hume Highway, passing first the tall, fancy buildings, and then slipping into the countryside, where the fields were filled with feathery brown grass and ringed with rusted wire. There was hardly any green at all, save for the pale, parched leaves on the eucalypts. A few paddocks had sheep or cattle in them, but the rest were empty.

He couldn’t do anything but stare at the footwell, his ragged shoes firm on the floor. There was no life here, not even inside him. Joe glanced at him every now and then, but didn’t say anything.

It was dark by the time they got to Bila Bila, pulling into the gravel driveway of their new home. House. Miles hardly remembered what a home felt like. A home would have Mum, and–

He let out a breath, trying to quiet his thoughts, his heart.

No, this was not a home. 

~

Wind slipped through the gap of an open window, billowing the kitchen sink curtain and settling a chill in the already cold room. Supposedly cold room; Miles only felt the barest edge of it, his palms sweating against the cool stone bench. There was a rhythmic tap against the wooden flooring, quiet, but with strength behind it — Joe — before he walked in and pulled the window shut.

“Nightmares?” he said, opening the cupboard.

Miles shook his head. “No,” he lied, wiping his hands against his pyjama shorts. Joe frowned at him, and he turned away, focussing where the sun was beginning to rise through the trees. “You know I slept better on the boat, Joe.”

His brother sighed, setting a pan on the stove heavily. “We’re not having this conversation again. We had to come here–”

“Had to come here –”

“Bila Bila needs a carpenter, Miles. The other villages, too. They’re paying me well enough.”

“You couldn’t find some other backwater villages on the coast?”

Joe groaned. “No.”

“And they really need you?” he pressed. “I know there’s other carpenters, you work with about six others–”

“Yes, Miles, they need me. This kind of thing is very in demand.” Miles just shook his head again, handing his brother the egg carton. His older brother was frowning hard, sun-bleached curls falling over his face. He looked pensive, more than just concentrating on the eggs, something frustrated under the surface. Miles knew he couldn’t push any further, or else Joe might snap. If it’d been Dad, he couldn’t have pushed at all before there were repercussions. 

“You have to wonder why anyone lives here at all.”

Joe laughed at that, raising his hands defensively when Miles whipped around, seeing the tension clear from his face. “I agree, I agree! Don’t look at me like that.”

He huffed, but secretly felt relieved. Joe still didn’t like it here any better than he did, no matter his talk of a long-term stay in Bila Bila. They’d get back on open water. The sooner the better. 

“Sam thinks there’s going to be a bad storm,” Joe said after a few minutes. “Plates?” Miles set two plates on the bench, and he began doling out the scrambled eggs.

“Sam?” For a moment he thought of their cousin, but he was in Melbourne, bothering his sisters and whatever else eleven-year-old boys liked to do. Eleven was a rough age. Five years ago, his own experience had been bruised and afraid and tired, so tired of keeping it all together in the aftermath of Joe’s leaving. He could hardly remember when Joe was eleven, everything blurred and shattered after Mum–

After Mum. After Uncle Nick.

Now Sam was eleven, and Miles hoped that his cousin would have it easier than him and Joe. Easier than–

But he would never be that old.

“Sam Kotzur; his family owns the local silos?” Joe sounded unimpressed, his level voice drawing Miles out of freezing depths and swelling waves. “Seriously, Miles. We’ve been here since June.”

“Oh, Mr Kotzur. Him.” He didn’t know who that was. Joe tried to get to know everyone in their small town, and more outside of it, while Miles tended to hide from their curious gazes and less-than-quiet mutterings. They didn’t mean any harm, sure. But they weren’t the new zoo exhibit, either. “It hasn’t even rained since we got here. Barely, at least.”

“I don’t know,” Joe said. “Just keep an eye out, okay?”

I’ve been in worse storms, Miles almost said, but the words caught in his throat, and Joe already knew, anyway.

~

Miles was only at school for the last two weeks of term before the winter holidays. He hadn’t wanted to go at all. But Joe had insisted. At least he had let Miles delay, let him settle in for a few weeks before packing him off to learn and do useless things instead of real work.

“You’ll have to get the bus this morning,” his brother said, two days before the term finished, handing him a wrapped sandwich. “I need to leave in five. I’m working at Boree Creek today.”

He didn’t say anything in response, intent on tying his shoelaces as viciously as possible. 

“I’m sorry, Miles. I really did want to take you,” he apologised. Joe ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “You know which bus it is for Corowa, don’t you? You’ll have to catch it home, too.”

This was not their home. “Yes.”

He’d only taken it once or twice, Joe normally intent on dropping him off and picking him up. It was weird, the way he watched Miles get in and out of the car. Like he was something fragile, barely restrained from breaking or turning feral. Maybe he was just concerned about how the other students were treating the new kid. 

Now it was the afternoon, and he’d spent the last forty minutes staring out the window, staring at the half-dead fields and shrivelled gum leaves and the thin sheep, lambs huddling against their mothers from the cold. He knew what it was to be cold. They had it easier up here, southern New South Wales still so far north of what true cold was, where hypothermia was more common than heatstroke, and the ocean sucked all life from your blood.

Miles remembered it pulling heat from him. Remembered it drawing the life from-

“Hey,” someone tapped him on the shoulder, and he recoiled. When he turned around, the boy behind him had an odd expression. “Sorry, man. Miles, right?”

“Yeah. Uh, Angus?” There were a handful of kids who caught the bus from Bila Bila to Corowa High School, and vice versa. Some were in his classes, too. But he hadn’t really been paying attention to those.

“Yeah. You know Jacob and Riley?” Two other teens glanced over, flicking their fingers in a lazy greeting. Miles tried to smile, but it probably looked like a grimace.

He nodded. “I think my brother works with Jacob’s dad. Riley,” he hesitated, “he’s in my English class? I’m not sure.”

“It’s alright,” Riley said, “I hate that class, anyway. Hey, does anyone have something in their lunchbox? I’m starving.”

The other two boys shook their heads, but Miles reached into his school bag and pulled out the sandwich Joe had made him. It wasn’t cold anymore, slightly pressed by the hours between school books. “It’s ham and cheese.”

Riley took it with glee. “You don’t like ham and cheese?”

“I wasn’t hungry.” He’d hardly felt hungry since– since before he and Joe had left Bruny Island.

“I’m always hungry,” Jacob complained. “Give me some, Riley. My brother says I’m gonna eat all of Dad’s wages at this rate, but he doesn’t get that I’m a growing guy. The doctor said I’m in the eightieth percentile for height, you know.”

He kept talking after that, but then Miles couldn’t listen anymore. He could feel the bus rattling over tarmac, could see the dry paddocks sweeping past, but it was all a blur, and each bump, each turn, felt like it was moving someone else.

He opened his mouth, but there was no air and he couldn’t breathe and the saltwater was flooding down into his lungs and searing his throat and he couldn’t see–

“Miles,” someone said. “Miles.”

He blinked, and Angus was looking at him strangely again. “You completely zoned out, man. Our bus stop’s coming up.”

“Oh.” He tried to clear his throat, but it ached with phantom pain. “Thanks. Sorry.”

Riley and Jacob were looking at him, too, confusion etched in their faces. “Are you alright?” Jacob asked.

“I’m fine,” he said, but it came out choked.

When the bus pulled over in Bila Bila, parents waiting nearby, Miles fled down the steps and towards his street. What was wrong with him? His face burned, his throat burned, and his eyes…

He wouldn’t cry here.

~

They sailed into the Docklands just after dawn, the mist lying thick over the water. Dark, angry clouds waited above them, lingering from the storm a few days ago. Joe left Miles to finish mooring the MV Beatrix and disappeared. 

His hands were numb as he tied the knots, checked the lines and sails. He told himself they were just here to refuel. To get more supplies, water and food and all the rest, before they were back at sea. The water rippled, reflections dulled by the overcast sky, and murmured the truth of things.

Joe came back, a notebook in hand, one page dogeared. Loose coins jingled in his pocket, and became quiet as he stood still. He watched Miles warily.

“Get your things off,” he said.

Fear settled in his bones. “What?”

His brother sighed, stepping onto the boat. “We’ve been doing this for nearly ten months, Miles. I need a break. Don’t you?”

No, he wanted to say. I could die at sea, I should die at sea before staying on land again. He knew he’d handled the storm badly, but Joe was going too far with this.

Silence. Dinghies and sailboats and yachts rocked around them, cradled by the waves. People were beginning to mill around on the decking. No one paid them any attention.

“It’ll just be for a few weeks?” he asked. Joe averted his eyes. “A few months?”

“We’ll see, Miles.” Then he waved to someone in the distance, an older man with sandy-dark hair, wisps of curls at the nape. As he moved closer, Miles felt some twist of familiarity. He looked a bit like Mum, like Joe and–

“Joe? Miles?” the man said, something wonderfully hopeful and grief-worn in his voice.

Joe stepped forward. Shook his hand. Let himself be drawn into an embrace instead. “Uncle Mike. It’s good to see you.”

Then he remembered: Mum and Aunty Jean’s older brother. He’d come down once or twice from Melbourne, making the long trek to Bruny Island to treat his nephews and laugh with his sisters.

“I’m sorry it’s been so long, boys.” He reached for Miles, too, but dropped his hand at the last second when Miles flinched. “Nine years feels like forever, you know. I’m glad Jean gave you my number.”

The three of them got everything off the boat and arranged it carefully into the boot of Uncle Mike’s car. Then they were on the road, weaving between tall buildings and crowded streets, lights flashing and horns blaring. It was strange, to see a place so busy and actually be part of it, not just visiting for a few hours before sailing away again. Miles hated Melbourne instantly. But he couldn’t look away.

“You can stay with us for as long as you like,” their uncle said. “I don’t know if you remember Laura, my wife? You probably only met her the once, I came alone for the– for your mum’s funeral.” He cleared his throat.

The funeral. When Dad had yelled and yelled and told him never to come back. That day had been a warning, then. Of what Dad would become, of what fury he could grasp. They’d been too young to know that. If only.

“I remember her a bit,” Joe said. Miles didn’t. “And Sarah and little Sammy.”

“Oh, Sarah’s at uni now, she’s very bright; studying paediatrics. And Sam was very excited when I told him I was going to pick his cousins up. He hasn’t met you, of course. He’s eleven, about the same age as–”

Miles looked up, and saw his uncle’s tears in the rearview mirror.

“I’m sorry,” Uncle Mike said.

~

Bila Bila was barely tolerable during the school week. He’d go to Corowa for class, and that was survivable. The mornings were too rushed to worry about their decrepit town, but the afternoons made him torturously aware. 

Joe had bought him a bike, second-hand from one of their neighbours. It wasn’t too bad, he supposed, but it was nothing compared to the waxy feel of his surfboard. Miles thought of it, lingering in some corner of Uncle Mike’s house, three hours south in Melbourne, and he hated Bila Bila a little more. 

But there was nothing else to do, apart from homework, and he definitely wasn’t doing that. So he cycled around and around, racing down the roads out of town, past the wilting paddocks. Long stretches of flat road, winding sections of hills, rickety bridges that crossed creeks or the Murray, straying into Victoria. He only returned when it was too dark to see, the bike light ineffective against the all-consuming black. Or maybe it did work, and he was just afraid.

Joe was usually back by then, if he hadn’t picked up Miles from school. Sometimes his brother gave him some money, a list with scrawling writing.

Milk, bread, eggs (don’t let them break again Miles), carrots–

It went on. Bila Bila was too small for many shops — a lot of the villages were — so he had to go to Howlong for his quest. Three-quarters of an hour to get there, then he had to fumble with the notes and coins, stutter over small niceties, and watch everyone with a wary gaze. Then he had to ride back, foodthings stuffed into his bag on the pannier rack. But it was almost comforting, for the two hours the whole ordeal took, to have a purpose.

Once, there was a man in the grocer’s shop with a dark expression, his hair flecked with grey and his arms sinewy with muscle and scars. He looked like he didn’t belong there; he belonged in a rundown house in Tasmania where the walls closed in and it was all dusty and grey as he stalked closer–

Miles had come back to Bila with nothing, his heart pounding, legs burning, money still in his pocket. He knew it hadn’t been Dad. He knew. But knowing was different than feeling. And for all that he resented Bila Bila, he knew it was safe. And that was something Bruny Island, with its swooping hills and grey-blue waters, had never been.

~

They thought he was asleep, but Miles could hear them talking. The soft linen of the lounge moulded around his body. It was strange. Uncomfortable.

“There was a storm last week,” Joe was saying from where they sat at the dining table. Then he lowered his voice, and Miles only heard the sharp intake of breath at whatever he said next. He tilted his head slightly, trying to make out the words. “I don’t think living on the boat is good for him, but I’m not sure what to do. I don’t think he can handle another storm like that one. I can’t handle it. ”

“Poor lamb,” Aunt Laura murmured. “You both need some stability; school, work, that sort of thing. Maybe a change of scenery will do you both some good.”

“Maybe,” Joe repeated. He didn’t sound very convinced.

“Just think about it,” Uncle Mike said. “You’ll figure it out. You haven’t had it easy these last few years, especially not with–”

Miles didn’t want to listen anymore.

~

It was only a few short days into the winter break when Miles woke up and everything was wrong. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, and someone’s name was on his chapped, bitten lips, hands clasping the shark tooth around his neck.

He lay in bed, the blue doona crumpled around his hips, and stared at the dusty ceiling. The alarm clock rested on the table beside him, flashing red in the gloomy darkness. 4.12am. The date was underneath the time, but he couldn’t read it. He didn’t need to, anyway. He already knew what day it was. The cold seeped through the window and into the room, frost kissing the glass, but he didn’t feel it at all.

All he saw was shadows, and all he felt was nothing. 

Then he blinked, and it was 6.23am. His hands were shaking in a sort of absent way. Like a shiver, like there was a thin current of electricity running in his veins. The fogged-up window began to lighten, the sky shifting from blackness to ultramarine. His eyes were dry, but he could sense the phantom waves crashing around him.

It was a mercy, perhaps, that he couldn’t think.

The landline rang from the kitchen. He heard Joe’s rhythmic steps, oddly faltering as he picked up the phone. The conversation was too quiet for Miles to hear, but his brother’s weeping was loud, and his heart twisted. He wanted to tell Joe it was alright, but he was still paralysed. Only his hands moved in their trembling.

The door nudged open. “Miles?” Joe said. There were dark shadows under his eyes, raw and lined with tears. His brother entered slowly, his only brother now, and sat down on his bed, pulling Miles upright and into his arms.

He didn’t know how long they stayed like that for. Joe touched his face, and it was only then Miles realised that he was crying, too. Sixteen and twenty. They were too old for this; Miles had had it beaten out of him. The walls closed in.

“Come on,” Joe eventually whispered, voice rough. “Let’s get out of here.”

Joe’s carpenter mates were waiting for them at Walla Walla, measuring timber and examining plans when they pulled in before a school, grander than most of the ones he’d seen around, bordered by paddocks and poplars. Abandoned for the holidays, save for a few lingering staff. Miles pressed himself next to the car and watched as the older men greeted his brother.

“You didn’t have to come in,” Jacob’s dad said, sadness showing in the turn of his mouth. “We can cope if you take the day off.”

“I need to do something,” Joe replied. Then, softly, “And I can’t leave him alone right now.”

Him. Miles. The last time Joe had left him alone, really alone, he’d returned to find Dad gone, Miles pale and bleeding in a hospital bed, and– Joe hadn’t just left Miles, of course. He’d left both of them alone. But only Miles made it out.

Joe kept looking over at him, protective glasses reflecting in the dim sunlight. The other chippies murmured behind him, faces half-hidden behind dust masks. They ripped out old wood panelling, cutting new wood to size. The sheep and cattle stared from the paddocks, disturbed by the noise. When Joe drove in the nails with a heavy hand, eyes grim, Miles almost wished that the nails were driving into him. At least then he would know the reason for his pain.

Like he didn’t know already. 

They stopped for lunch, egg and bacon rolls. Joe picked at his food. Miles didn’t eat at all, though he hadn’t even had breakfast. A few men lit their cigarettes, smoke tilting through the air. They lured his brother into easy conversation, pulling out stories and promises of the beautiful spring to come until Joe began to smile and agree, even if his eyes were still troubled. Most of them weren’t from Bila Bila; that was only Joe and Jacob’s dad. The others lived in other villages that were less rundown, more populated. Burrumbuttock, Jindera — places with a few hundred people instead of less than ninety.

“Do you like carpentry, Miles?” Mr Doecke asked. He was from Howlong, which wasn’t a village at all. He was smiling. Trying to be nice. Miles should have responded, but the words caught in his throat and he just stared until Mr Doecke’s smile faded into sorrow and he looked away.

The sun was beginning to set when they left. Joe and Miles got dinner on the way back to Bila Bila, but he still couldn’t eat, insides roiling. He was cold in his heart, and on fire in the pit within his soul, and no food or drink would fix this.

The canola fields went past them, blossoms all tightly shut beneath the clouds. It looked lifeless. Hopeless. Every now and then he could see the Murray through the trees, and it hurt. Today of all days, he hated the river.

He hated the sea it led to.

When they got back, the landline had half a dozen missed calls. Most of the area codes were from Tasmania. Joe sighed, and started the strenuous process of playing back the messages. Miles heard Aunty Jean’s tired, strained voice and fled.

The date on his alarm clock taunted him, bright red in the darkening room.

~

It was a school night in early August when the rain started: heavy, uneven pattering and peals of wrathful thunder. Miles lay awake for hours until sleep claimed him, and even then he wasn’t safe. Waves gripped him, sweeping currents under his feet, the hard decking of the Lady Ida behind his head.

He looked up into bloody eyes, Jeff’s red smile glinting in the early morning, and froze. Dad’s fingers were bruising on his shoulders as he pushed him under, over and over. Salt burned his throat. Then he wrenched his head upwards and saw a pale boy, short curls matted with dark stains, water spilling out of his mouth. The boy twitched his head and stared, and it was his brother; it was–

Joe woke Miles up then, hearing his thrashing screams. It was only three o’clock, but neither of them went back to sleep after that. They sat in the kitchen, and it was silent except for the rain. Clutter was beginning to gather in the space dangerously. Not messy clutter, though. Extra cutlery from the op shop; a wooden knife block and matching cutting board on the counter, gifted by one of Joe’s carpenter mates; a small painting on the wall, signed by Miss Helbig down the road. An exquisitely carved model boat sitting in the bookshelf, painted with a blue and red hull, rigged with tiny sails. That had been Granddad’s.

Even Joe’s room was beginning to be affected, posters tacked up and a steadily-growing pile of books in the corner. The house was on the verge of becoming something domestic. Something permanent. Only Miles’ bedroom was still bare. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Joe said, stirring his coffee. A mug of hot milo sat undisturbed before Miles, skin forming on top. 

“I can’t,” he said. He should be over it by now. Joe hummed, unsatisfied, and turned the TV on. There was nothing but stupid infomercials, blonde ladies chattering away about new vacuum cleaners, talking over the rain outside. He put his hand on Miles’ shoulder and left it there, even when he flinched. The warmth spread through him, little by little.

The sun didn’t rise that day, not really. The black clouds kept it away, and Joe had to drive with the headlights on, dropping Miles at school on the way to Collendina. They’d been up for hours already, and he drifted through classes like a ghost.

“How much sleep did you get last night?” Riley asked, kicking up water with his foot. Miles waited with the other boys for the bus, even though Joe was coming to pick him up. “I swear Miss Fuller was going to strap you with the way you kept dozing off.”

He shrugged, staring at the stream of droplets falling from the roof, rusting and creaking under the weight. “I don’t care about a strapping. And she can’t do it, anyway.”

“Good thing she can’t use the wooden spoon either,” Angus said. “Else I’d get it, too. It taught me manners right quick; Mum only had to use it twice when I was little.” Jacob and Riley laughed, but Miles stayed quiet. 

“You never got it, Miles?” Riley said, smiling. “Lucky.”

He thought of being plunged into the water, aching ribs, blood running into his eyes and all the little scars from abalone fishing and beer bottles. He thought of Joe’s broken arm, and drowning. His brother finally pulled up, windscreen wipers working frantically, and Miles turned away from the other boys. 

He knew they didn’t understand. He was glad they didn’t.

“You’re the lucky ones,” he said bitterly, and got in the car.

~

There’d been a strange tension between Miles and the other boys for a few days, ever since that afternoon beneath the rickety tin roof. They didn’t avoid him in class or anything cruel, including him in conversations with undeserved kindness. But they looked at him, the way Joe did or Mr Roberts had. Curious. Wondering. Concerned. Like they knew what he really was, or were about to figure it out: a scared boy, pretending he wasn’t nothing. Pretending that he was fine. 

The rain hadn’t stopped. It had kept going, bucketing angrily over the Murray region for days. During classes, during dinner, during sleep. But he hadn’t slept much at all, nightmares ripping any peace away from him. 

He was drowning, the waves pulling him back and forth and his vision was black and he couldn’t remember who he was or why–

Joe had work even though it was a miserable Saturday, reluctantly driving himself to work and leaving Miles alone. Alone, in the stupid little house.

He biked to the local park, wheels sliding on the tarmac, and sat by the river in the soaking rain. The Murray looked bad. It was all swollen, water cloudy and writhing. He’d never seen it like that before, only knowing it as smooth and slow-flowing. He wondered how easily it could drown. He could hear a few kids playing in the muddy field, the hollow thud of kicked footballs and carefree shouts. One of the voices sounded a bit like Jacob.

He glanced over, and they saw him.

“Miles!” Angus said, rushing over. He went to touch his shoulder. Then he paused, and withdrew his hand, a strange look in his eyes. Miles blinked, and it disappeared. “Riley’s sick at home, which sucks. You should join us!”

“I’ve never played much,” he replied cautiously. “I just wanted to see the river.” 

“Well, you’ve seen it now,” Jacob said. “Dad said if we get much more rain, it’s going to overflow. Hasn’t done that for a few years, apparently. He didn’t want to go to Gerogery today, but he had to. Did Joe go, too?”

He nodded, and finally stood up. The football was slippery in his hands, dripping with mud and flecked with grassblades. Angus showed him how to kick it, angling it just so and letting it drop onto his foot. The other kids, younger by a few years, hung nearby to watch as Miles practised.

“You really never played before?” a girl asked, trying not to laugh as the ball fell only a few metres away.

“Once or twice, I guess.” He picked the ball up and kicked it again. It went a bit further this time. “But I like surfing more.” Something twisted in his chest, and any lightness he felt disappeared. The surface of the footy was rough and bumpy, not waxy and smooth, and he missed his board.

“Surfing?” Angus exclaimed. “No one here ever goes surfing; the coast is too far. You’re from Hobart or something, yeah?”

He breathed in. Breathed out. He spun the football in his hands, hands sliding over the stitching. “Bruny Island. Surfing’s pretty decent there.”

“Your brother did it, too?” 

“Joe was great,” he said absently. “But Harry–”

He stopped. The ball fell from his fingers. It bounced on the grass, droplets dancing into the air.

Jacob frowned. There was a look in his eyes, like Angus had. He stepped forward, just a little. “Who’s Harry?”

His heart skittered. “Harry.” For the first time, he noticed the chill on his skin. The shark tooth weighed heavy on his neck, dragging him under. “Harry–” 

He choked, and couldn’t say anything else.

“You’re shaking, Miles,” Angus whispered, face pale. The younger kids shifted nervously. “It’s alright.”

But it wasn’t alright.

Jacob and Angus yelled after him as he turned and fled, but there was nothing they could do. He ran, abandoning his bike to the storm, and didn’t stop running until the house loomed before him. The door slammed behind his thudding steps.

He tucked himself in the corner next to his bed and wept.

~

Joe looked worried. Work kept getting cancelled, the rain too heavy to do anything worthwhile. It poured and poured, and you could hardly see out the windows. The neighbouring houses were swallowed by mist, barely more than dark shadows in the gloom. School had been closed yesterday, the gutters flooding and old roofs finally succumbing to the deluge, water trickling into classrooms. It was closed again today — the receptionist had rung this morning. All of this was, of course, concerning. Everyone could read the writing on the wall; if the rain didn’t let up, things would get worse.

But Miles knew that wasn’t why Joe was worried.

Harry, Harry, Harry.

He’d been trying not to think–

He hadn’t used that name for–

But now–

His throat was burning from tears and weeping but no one could hear him, alone in this bare room where he had no words except for–

“Miles.” He glanced up, hands wrapped tightly around his knees, and saw his brother. Joe was frowning. “It’s going to be okay.”

“I’m not scared of the rain, ” he bit out.

Joe sighed. “I know you’re not. That’s not what I meant.” He stood in silence for a moment, staring at Miles tucked at the very edge of the lounge, folded in on himself. “We need to get some sandbags from town. Come on.”

“I don’t want to go.”

“You should get out of the house.” His voice was firmer this time. 

Miles turned his eyes away to a stain on the floor. “I went out on Saturday.” 

Harry, Harry, Harry.

How had he let that slip?

“And that was three days ago, and you haven’t been the same since then, and I don’t even know what happened!” Dad’s voice had always been loud, gravelly and thick, and Joe usually made a conscious effort to keep his own tone lighter, softened around the edges. Apart from moments like this. 

Miles swallowed, still avoiding eye-contact. 

“I’m sorry, Miles,” Joe said, more quietly this time. “You don’t have to tell me. But we are going out.”

~

Miles had only been to Albury a handful of times over the last few months. The roads were well-paved compared to the rough, uneven tarmac in the country. They were only separated by a few kilometres, but money made all the difference. Still, it was nothing like Melbourne, or even Hobart. The grass had been dry just the same as at Bila, and it was drowning the same now.

The streets bustled even in the rain, clouds of black umbrellas mirroring the stormy sky. Joe drove slowly, leaning over the steering wheel to wipe fog from the windscreen. He glanced in the rearview mirror, and Miles followed his gaze to the hessian bags shifting in the ute tray.

“Graham and the other guys have been going back and forth all morning,” Joe said finally, trying to be somewhat cheerful. “They’ve got a place for us to put these ones.”

“Okay.” He sounded dull, barely above a whisper.

“We don’t need to worry that much about our house, since we’re on a hill, but the river…” His brow creased. “It might get bad, Miles.”

“Okay.” They were nearly on the highway now, passing the gardens with the kauri pine that his brother always lamented after. (“Some of the finest timber,” he’d said one time, “wasted in a city garden! Unbelievable.” Miles had smiled then, and they laughed, and he hadn’t minded things so much in that moment.)

“Okay,” Joe echoed, shoulders sagging.

“What do you want me to say? That it was your stupid idea to move here? We wouldn’t have to risk floods if we’d stayed on the boat, like I wanted to. You dragged me here, Joe, and I hate it.” He wanted to feel angry. His words came out low, almost calm. More than numb.

“The boat wasn’t right for us, Miles.” Joe’s hands clenched the wheel. “I loved the boat, too, but we couldn’t stay there anymore.”

“Why? You never tell me why, Joe. Your work is just an excuse. Sometimes I think you don’t even want to go back to the sea at all.” Something inside Miles almost couldn’t blame him for that. But the part that had grown up in the water, had learned and worked and almost died in the ocean, withered at the thought.

“I don’t,” Joe hissed. “And I don’t want you anywhere near it.”

“Why?” he said again, baring his teeth.

“Shut up,” his brother snapped. Miles hunched in his seat and was silent, too afraid to keep pressing. The windscreen wipers squeaked across the glass, vainly trying to keep the rain away. Joe sped down the highway in the pelting rain, his face pale; despite the frustration in his voice, it had trembled, too.

~

His arms ached, muscle ripping and tearing. It had taken hours to shore up the houses close to the river, each moment filling bags with sand and silt tedious, every person in the relay lines sweating despite the frigid rain. His arms ached, and his legs trembled, and Miles was alone.

People chattered around him, nervous remarks about the Murray’s rising waters and blasé assurances that it would be fine, really. Riley’s mum and her friends were passing out sandwiches and hot cups of tea in the distance, dressed in bright raincoats. Miles eyed them with envy, longing for something to take the edge off the cold. His stomach felt hollow. 

“You’re the best, Mrs Schneider,” Jacob exclaimed, his voice carrying. Riley said something in reply, and they laughed. They looked so cheerful, red cheeks streaked with grime, hair dripping into their faces. Joe stood near them, deep in discussion with one of the local farmers. He smiled and held himself at ease, but Miles could see the troubled expression in his eyes, and he knew it was his fault.

“Oh, Miles,” someone said, and he jolted. It was Jacob’s dad, juggling a breadroll in one hand and a shovel in the other. He had his sleeves pushed up, a jagged scar over his bicep like the ones Dad had. His head pounded at the thought. “Won’t you have something to eat? We’ve been at it all morning, son.”

“I’m not hungry,” he replied, trying not to stumble over his words. He shivered slightly.

“You sure?” Mr Wagner said mildly. He was frowning a little. “We still have a lot to do, and you haven’t had a single break yet.”

Miles opened his mouth to deny it, but all that came out was a stuttering cough. “What do you mean?” he asked weakly.

The older man hesitated. “Joe asked me to keep an eye on you,” he said. “He said you argued yesterday,  wanted someone to check in on you because you’re avoiding him.”

“That’s none of your business,” Miles protested, even if it was true. 

“Jacob’s concerned, you know,” Mr Wagner continued. “He wouldn’t tell me why, but he is.”

He crossed his arms and glanced away, lungs rattling in his chest. “I need to go,” he murmured, gazing at the riverbank where a group was beginning to lay new sandbags. His muscles burned at the prospect of more labour, but the numbing, menial pain would distract him from Joe and his not-friends and Harry. 

Miles turned, then, to get away from Jacob’s dad and his unsubtle worrying, but a hand came down onto his shoulder and he choked, his nerves on fire. Mr Wagner released him just as quickly. “Are you okay, son?” he said, moving his fingers to brush against Miles’ forehead. He froze at the contact. “You’re awfully warm; you might be coming down with something.”

He finally managed to get a grip and wrenched himself away. “I’m not your son,” Miles said stiffly, heart racing. “Leave me alone.”

Stumbling towards the riverbank, he set himself to work again, lining the bags in neat rows, piling them into an impenetrable wall. The other people chattered around him, as they’d done all day. His eyes stung with tears. It hurt to swallow, his throat like sandpaper. He wanted to lay down and die, but he kept going.

~

The sun was beginning to set by the time they were nearly finished, hidden between black clouds. Miles only knew it was there at all through the way the sky darkened in its disappearance, the gloom casting forward to cover Bila Bila with shadow. It was cold, and getting colder, too. It felt closer to Bruny Island than riverside New South Wales, where Antarctic winds buffeted the fishing boats in every waking moment. His skin smouldered nonetheless, each falling raindrop like ice against it. Pain lanced through his head, vision fading at the edges. Just one more, Miles told himself, a sandbag weighing like lead in his arms. He blinked, and he could see again. One more, and then he could go home and collapse.

Only that wasn’t true, and he’d been keeping that lie up for three hours. Those around him noticed it, too, forcing plastic cups into his hands with drawn brows. Surely Joe hadn’t asked all of them to watch his stupid little brother. Or maybe he had.

He couldn’t see Joe anywhere.

“You should really take a break, Miles,” Mr Kotzur said. “We’re basically done, we can finish the rest without you.”

He shook his head, wincing. “I’m fine,” he said, or rather, tried to say. It came out as nothing but a rasp, and then he was coughing and coughing until he doubled over and sank to the ground. 

Immediately people flocked around him, touching his shoulders, hands, knees. The steady rain hesitated, then, as if taking pity on him. The ice stopped sinking into his skin, and it was such a relief that he started coughing all over again, choking on the air. The sandbag slipped out of his hands, falling beside the rest of the levee. The river lapped at the edges, inching toward his lax fingers.

“Get his brother!” someone cried.

Harry? Harry wouldn’t know what to do; Miles didn’t want Harry to see him like this.

“What do you mean?” Mr Kotzur asked, supporting his back. His cheeks were ruddy, and Miles could feel the heat of his hands through his drenched shirt. “Miles?”

“Harry,” he whispered. He tried to push himself upright but slumped, his head lolling down towards the muddy grass. “Don’t let him see. I’m fine, I’m fine.”

“He was talking about Harry the other day,” Angus was saying frantically, voice wavering. “I think that’s his–”

“Miles!” Joe shouted, suddenly hovering over him. It felt like it had only been a few moments, but it must’ve been longer with the way people were staring. “What’s wrong?”

Fear flickered through his chest. His spine straightened and then he was standing, too, legs wobbling like a newborn calf. “Nothing’s wrong,” he said. “I’m fine.”

“That’s not what Mr Wagner said,” Joe replied, taking Miles by the arm. Despite his better judgement, he leaned into the touch. Then he realised what he was doing, and pulled his arm away. “You’re burning up, Miles. You should sit down.”

“I’m sick of you telling me what to do,” Miles hissed. It hurt to breathe, and it hurt to think, and everything just hurt. 

“What? Miles, don’t be ridiculous,” Joe reached for his arm again, but Miles drew back. “You’re clearly unwell. Come on.”

“No!” 

Then the rain started pouring again, slicking his hair, mist clouding his eyes. The figure of his brother was blurry, but Miles heard as he took a step towards him, heavy, weighted, slipping in the mud. He moved backwards. Another step followed. Chasing him. 

Dad. 

And he realised that he wasn’t on a riverbank at all, but the unsteady deck of Lady Ida . A hand grabbed his wrist and he flinched, stretching his other arm out blindly to shield Harry behind him. Harry. Harry was here, he was alive.

He was about to die.

Dad’s frame stood before him, broad and shadowed in the twilight. Miles could feel the rumble of his voice driving straight into his marrow, but he couldn’t focus on the words. He was powerless. Dad’s other hand brushed his shirt in a threat, brushed the edge of the shark tooth in a promise. It clenched into a fist around his bicep. “You–”

“Please, Dad,” Miles said. He hated how his voice shook, especially as there was a sharp intake of breath somewhere above him. He ducked his head, preparing for a blow.

“Miles?” Dad sounded softer, suddenly. Hurt, even. Like Miles was threatening to destroy his life. Kill his brother. Harry. The grip on his arm loosened, but he couldn’t move. His sight was still hazed by rain, and he sensed Dad’s hand reaching behind him. 

Miles might have been a terrible brother, but he loved Harry. He couldn’t die again.

“Don’t,” he spat, startling away. The deck slid beneath his feet. A wave swept across his ankle, tugging harshly. 

“Miles!” The hand on his wrist tightened. Bruising.

“Don’t touch Harry.” He was pleading, now. “You’re going to kill him, please.”

“Harry’s not here,” his father said, still quiet. Trying to reason with something feral. “Listen to me, Miles. I’m not Dad.”

He blinked, shaking his head. “What?” Then he blinked again and saw Joe’s face this time, the edges of his face illuminated by torchlight, a crowd of shadows behind him. He could pick out Angus and Riley’s stricken stares, the fearful looks of Mrs Schneider and Miss Helbig. Instead of feeling reassured, panic welled up inside him. Where had Dad gone? Did he have Harry? He whipped his head around to where his little brother should’ve been, hiding behind him.

Nothing.

He screamed. Stepped backwards. 

Freezing water rose to meet him, and then he couldn’t see at all.

~

Someone was rubbing him with a towel, words tumbling over his head. Grass prickled beneath his body, blades cast across his limbs. The riverbank.  

Then he was properly awake, coughing and trying to get the water out of his lungs. Warm arms held him upright, soothing his wretched gasps, and then he was crying.

“It’s okay,” Joe kept saying, over and over. Lying. “You’re safe, it’s alright.”

He buried his head in his hands and wept.

“What’s wrong with him?” someone murmured, equal parts uneasy and horrifically fascinated, the way you might feel if you saw someone dive straight off a cliff into the rocks below. Another person hushed them just as Joe glared in their direction, knees stained with mud.

“Shut up. Nothing is wrong with Miles,” he hissed, voice breaking treacherously, clutching his brother’s shoulder. But he sounded like he was underwater, dim and garbled, and Miles knew that no, something was deeply wrong with him. 

“Joe,” he whispered. Rain-mingled tears kept tracking down his cheeks, and each breath choked within his chest. “Joe, I want to go home.”

“Okay,” Joe said, and his eyes were glistening, too. “Okay.”

“Let me help you, son,” Jacob’s dad said, and then two pairs of hands were lifting him, strong and secure.

He drifted.

~

It was some hours later before things were settled, baths and dry clothes and cheap medicines, but Miles was still afraid. The overexertion had snared him, limbs protesting with every inch of movement, and he lay helplessly in bed, propped up by pillows as shadows flickered in his mind. He would never be free from Dad, he realised, not truly. Not when delusions chased him in fevers, not when the storms came and went. Not when he thought of Harry.

Joe came in and sat beside him, his blond hair damp. He gazed at his little brother sadly. “We need to talk.”

“What do you want me to say?” An echo from their argument, yesterday morning. His hands were twisting together, meaningless knots. Not like the ones he’d used on the Lady Ida, or even the MV Beatrix, which were deliberate in every loop .

“I don’t know.” He sighed, wiping a hand across his eyes. “You fell in the river! You could’ve died — again! You’re lucky that part of the bank was in an eddy, or it would’ve taken you. And the way you were acting…” Joe hesitated, his eyebrows drawn, pale-faced. “What happened, Miles?”

He glanced up, scoffing. “I had some kind of psychotic break; I don’t know, Joe. I’m sure someone else can tell you, the whole town was there–”

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” Joe interrupted, his palm raised. “They’re all worried about you, Miles, especially your friends.”

“I don’t know if they’re my friends.” He swallowed, feeling the sharp scratch of his throat. “I’ve been acting like a freak.”

“Well, they are worried,” his brother said. “I’m worried. I– I thought you would get better, here. Away from the ocean.”

“Better? In Bila Bila?” His voice rose incredulously. 

Joe almost smiled, but it faded within seconds. “I enjoyed being on the Beatrix, and I know you did, too. But I saw the way you looked at the sea, Miles, the same way you looked every time after Dad beat you. Like you wanted it to just end. Ten months of looking , and– and at first it wasn’t so bad, you know? But every time it rained, or there was thunder, you got worse. And then that storm a few months ago. You know how scared I was? You slipped right off the deck and you didn’t even try to save yourself.” His voice cracked. “I don’t want you dead, Miles. Harry doesn’t need you yet, but I do.”

“He did need me,” Miles said, tears gathering in his eyes. “I failed him, Joe, but I’m still here and he’s not.”

“And I failed both of you,” Joe argued. “Harry wouldn’t blame you, Miles. You did your best.”

“It wasn’t enough,” he sobbed. His brother held him tightly. “It wasn’t enough.”

It seemed an eternity before he got himself under control, lungs heaving with the effort as his breath caught and stuttered. There was a tightness there, beyond the grief, an infection settling in. The river hadn’t killed him, nor the sea, nor Dad or even the accident. He knew this illness wouldn’t either, and he felt sick at the disappointment that rose within him.

“I don’t know what to do, Joe,” he said quietly. “Something’s wrong with me. I’m not okay.”

“I know,” Joe said slowly, “but you can learn how to be okay.”

Miles felt like breaking down all over again, a half-repaired sandcastle buckling under the next wave. He sat still, very still, until he could breathe again. “I don’t think I can,” he whispered. “I don’t think I’ve been okay in a very long time.”

“Miles…”

“Why can’t I just get over it?” He couldn’t look Joe in the eye. “You lost them too, but– but you’re not broken. Not like me.”

His brother pressed him closer, so close that his warmth chased away the chill in his bones, the cold that had seeped in when he and Harry were in the water and hadn’t left. “You’re not broken, Miles. I had six years with Granddad, away from Dad, away from that house.” Joe sighed, his breath hitching next to Miles’ ear. “Away from you, and Harry. And it took me most of those six years to get over it, Mum and Uncle Nick and what Dad had become. But you haven’t had six years. You’ve had one.”

“Can’t one be enough?” he half-begged. “I’m tired, Joe. I’m so tired.”

“I know,” Joe said. “I know. But you can’t keep bottling everything up; you need to talk about it. Granddad helped me, and my friends on Bruny Island. And the guys I work with, like Jacob’s dad and Peter and Glenn. People care, Miles. Uncle Mike and Aunt Laura care. Our neighbours care. Your friends care. I know it’s hard, but you need to let people in, or you won’t ever get better. Stop isolating yourself.”

He hated that Joe was right. “I don’t know where to start.”

“Just try,” he encouraged.

“I have something to tell you, then,” he said, and he twisted his fingers together. “But I’m trying to think of the words.”

“I’ll make some milo while you think,” Joe offered, and he smiled in a soft, reassuring way. Miles couldn’t quite smile back, but he squeezed his brother’s hand and didn’t look away.

~

The river didn’t quite flood, in the end. The Murray lapped at the steep slope of the riverbank, swallowed sandbags into its depths, but didn’t dare to enter Bila Bila. It only raged below them, voracious and threatening. Then the dark clouds finally loosened their grip, and the rain petered out into a thin drizzle until it stopped entirely. Miles knew they were lucky, even though the roads were still covered in water and the fields were half-drowned and everything was going to be wet and muddy for weeks afterward.

Miles himself hadn’t been so lucky, as his chest ached in the throes of pneumonia. Joe thought it was only mild, but he couldn’t be sure until they went to the doctor, and they couldn’t go to the doctor yet. So he sipped on cups of tea and coughed and coughed, and his nose was red and his skin was feverish. It was a few days still before the sun came out. It was blinding and hot and golden. It was sorely missed.

Riley’s mum made them soup and sent it over with Riley and his friends. The three boys sat beside Miles on the small verandah of his house, overlooking the submerged plains and the drying streets. They didn’t talk about much at first, only safe questions about when school was going to go back and when they’d be able to get into town again. Then Miles steeled himself.

“I’m sorry,” he said. The others looked at him.

“What for?” Angus said.

“You were trying to be nice to me– you were nice to me, and I kept pushing you away. I wasn’t very nice.” He fidgeted under their stares. 

“Sure,” Jacob said after a moment, “but it wasn’t like you were mean on purpose or anything. Playing football and talking to you on the bus wasn’t so bad, only you’re going through some things and it’s messing with you sometimes. We get it.”

“You’re our friend,” Riley added.

He paused. “Really?”

“Yeah,” the other boy said easily, like it was common knowledge. “We have to stick together, you know? Bila Bila’s a small place.”

“You don’t have to tell us anything if you don’t want to, though.” Angus was watching him carefully.

Miles shook his head. “I should. I– Harry’s my little brother. He died last year.”

“We kind of figured that out,” Riley said, not unsympathetically. Jacob elbowed him. “Dude, what the–!” Then his eyes widened. “Sorry, Miles.”

He shrugged, tilting his gaze to the wooden deck, muddy footprints cracking as they dried. “Yeah, well. It was really hard. I was there when it happened.” Understatement.

“What was he like?” Angus said.

Absurdly, he almost smiled, even though his heart clenched. “Annoying, sometimes; he always asked so many questions. But he was sweet. Thoughtful. If he had any pocket money he would always spend it on lollies and share them with me. And he liked to explore, collect things from the beach like shells and rocks and driftwood. He hated the ocean, though.” Miles swallowed. Cleared his throat. “Joe and I went surfing all the time, but he’d just watch us from the shore. I think he would’ve liked it here.” 

“Do you like it here?” Riley asked.

“I hated it for a while,” he admitted. “But I’m not so sure, now.”

“Just wait until everything dries up,” Jacob said. “When spring comes, it all looks so different.”

Angus nodded. “And you’ll get used to the people. We’re not so bad.”

Miles leaned back and looked at the other boys. “Yeah,” he said, “you’re pretty alright.” Then he smiled for real, and they smiled back, and he felt a little lighter.

~

They barrelled down the road, cresting the rise and sailing to the bottom with the fast-paced ticks of the freehub. Angus and Riley were gliding around errant pools of water, deep potholes that were crumbling at the edges, wider than before the rains had come. Miles and Jacob let them pass in front on their bikes, keeping to the left as a car sped beyond them. The gravel was looser on the roadside, thin grasses peeking through the cracks of the tarmac. 

It was exhilarating, the way the wind whipped through his curls, making them dance, licking the sweat from his neck and caressing the shark tooth from where it swung against his chest. The bag on his pannier rack rattled, loose coins and new surfboard wax. Howlong faded behind them, a silhouette in the golden set of the sun. Their shadows cast out long and far before them, black against the gunmetal grey road.

“See?” Jacob shouted, pedalling alongside him. “It’s a lot nicer now, right?”

And Miles did see. The paddock grasses were still golden, not in the wilting way they’d been before, but lustrous and tall, woven between a blanket of green, and it was new, young in the early days of September. And the pastures were littered with Angus cattle, black coats catching in the sunlight as they grazed upon the myriad hills. They sang a lowing song, reverberating down the slopes and onto the road, and the calves skipped around their dams’ legs. And the cattle were framed on either side by fields of canola, great yellow expanses that stretched for ages, millions of bright flowers that clustered in the sunlight and tilted towards him.

And it was all beautiful.

“Yeah,” Miles said, raising his voice in the wind.

Then he raced ahead to catch up with Angus and Riley, and Jacob raced to catch up with him, and they were all laughing as they approached Bila Bila, breathless and flushed. Angus’ face was as red as his helmet; he was the only one wearing it at all. Then they turned into their village, and they could see the Murray watching them through the treeline. It was still roiling a few weeks after the rain, still thick with mud and roaring. Miles didn’t know how he ever thought it was weak. It was just as dangerous as the sea that it was chasing, but in a different way. It ruled all the land around them, and could give and take in a heartbeat.

“See you in a couple weeks!” Riley called, and Jacob and Angus echoed him. Miles waved as they cycled away, towards their own homes.

Joe was waiting for him in the gravel driveway, loading their bags into the Hilux. “Are you ready to go?” he said.

“Let me put the bike away,” Miles said. He reached into the pannier bag and pulled out the wax. “I got this.”

His brother smiled, reading the label. “I’ve missed surfing. And the Beatrix. Now come on, I told Aunt Laura we’d be in Melbourne by nine.”

“We’ll come back, won’t we?” he asked a few moments later, when they were pulling away from the house.

“Of course,” Joe said. “It’s a nice place, nice people.”

“Yeah.” And Miles turned his head to watch Bila Bila fade into the distance, their small home on the hill. The Murray watched them go, and the cattle kept singing as they drove past, and the canola flowers swayed in the breeze. Harry would’ve loved it, he supposed, and for once the thought of his little brother didn’t sting. 

Maybe he could, too.

~

There, beyond the leas, beyond the sweeping fields of gold, the hills hide it - a writhing trench, rolling over itself towards the sea. The river cracks and splits and branches along the surface, reaching across the plains for more, more, more. It is never satisfied.

Yet it is the lifeblood of this place, it is the veins of every field, it is the mother of every calf and lamb. For when the sky falls, it feasts on the rain, and it nurtures the withered plains with a vicious intensity. Providing life.

Giving hope.