wouldn’t lose it. One late afternoon when we were back to our real selves, and it were time to go, we set off the way we had come, avoiding the tiger man, and heading back to the den. It became colder on our journey home, but the lair were warm, especially after we followed the example of the tigers, who ripped off fern fronds and put them on the floor. Becky took off her filthy underclothes and wrapped the cameo in them and put it in the corner of the den cos it were precious to her. I think in becoming naked it made her even more determined not to lose her language and she’d sing, tell stories from the Bible or recite poems, not caring if we listened or not. The deepest part of her were fighting real hard not to become an animal.
Winter is cruel. It’s like having your bare bum whipped with a switch every day. It’s a constant sting, especially in your stomach. We were in ferny country so there were still animals ’bout, but not as many. Cos we wore no clothes we covered ourselves with mud from the creek. The wind didn’t cut us half as bad then. When snow fell we just stayed in our lair, snuggled up, snoozing all the time. Sometimes when we were really desperate for food we’d find a dead devil, but the flesh were rank and some of it would not stay down in our throat and it would come up again, but it were warm by then so we chewed it again and it were easier to swallow warm gunk. We went after wombat babies cos the mother and father were away hunting for their food. The tigers digged out the opening then Becky and I would attack the hole with sticks, digging deeper and deeper til we found the wombat pups. They were good nights. But in the real dark cold part of winter there were no food.
One evening as we looked out on the deep snow and shivered we knew it would be bad hunting. All our usual prey were in their burrows or dens. The world outside were empty of life. Our stomachs were full-bore empty too. Becky said she had an idea. So the three of us followed her through the ferny country, through the gum tree forest and into the scrub. We were still walking hours later when the sick sun came up.
We stopped on top of a hill and me heart started to beat like it were an animal trying to escape from me ribcage. This were where the evil tiger man lived. The tigers were frightened too; I could see by their stiff tails. I were clutching Becky’s muddy arm and saying, No, no, no . I didn’t want to give meself up to the man cos he skinned the tigers. She looked at me hard - oh dear, I remember that look so well, it were branded on me brain. It said I were stupid and silly and weak. She dragged me up to the top of the slope. The horse were still there, its blanket covered in snow - it looked white like a unicorn in me picture book. There were no smoke coming from the chimney so the fella might have been sleeping or away hunting tigers, I didn’t know. There , said Becky pointing to a dozen sheep dozing under a gum tree. I knew right then, like being whacked over the head with a piece of ironwood that the sheep were our food. So did the tigers. There were no words said. We all knew we had to do this quickly and quietly. And we knew our part in the hunt.
The tigers ran in a wide arc so they could be behind the sheep while Becky and I herded them. We knew they would turn tail and run. Once we seen the tigers had cut off the sheep’s escape route we ran straight at them. It were only later that I realised I were on all fours. It seemed more natural. We were so good at hunting, and so silent, that we were practically on the sheep before they realised. They tried to flee, but they went straight into the jaws of Dave and Corinna, who ripped the throats of two of the sheep while the others escaped. The horse were afeared and tried to get away but it were tied to a tree. We stood there, the dead sheep at our feet, panting and listening hard to any movement inside the shack. But there were none. I wanted to eat the sheep then
Winter is cruel. It’s like having your bare bum whipped with a switch every day. It’s a constant sting, especially in your stomach. We were in ferny country so there were still animals ’bout, but not as many. Cos we wore no clothes we covered ourselves with mud from the creek. The wind didn’t cut us half as bad then. When snow fell we just stayed in our lair, snuggled up, snoozing all the time. Sometimes when we were really desperate for food we’d find a dead devil, but the flesh were rank and some of it would not stay down in our throat and it would come up again, but it were warm by then so we chewed it again and it were easier to swallow warm gunk. We went after wombat babies cos the mother and father were away hunting for their food. The tigers digged out the opening then Becky and I would attack the hole with sticks, digging deeper and deeper til we found the wombat pups. They were good nights. But in the real dark cold part of winter there were no food.
One evening as we looked out on the deep snow and shivered we knew it would be bad hunting. All our usual prey were in their burrows or dens. The world outside were empty of life. Our stomachs were full-bore empty too. Becky said she had an idea. So the three of us followed her through the ferny country, through the gum tree forest and into the scrub. We were still walking hours later when the sick sun came up.
We stopped on top of a hill and me heart started to beat like it were an animal trying to escape from me ribcage. This were where the evil tiger man lived. The tigers were frightened too; I could see by their stiff tails. I were clutching Becky’s muddy arm and saying, No, no, no . I didn’t want to give meself up to the man cos he skinned the tigers. She looked at me hard - oh dear, I remember that look so well, it were branded on me brain. It said I were stupid and silly and weak. She dragged me up to the top of the slope. The horse were still there, its blanket covered in snow - it looked white like a unicorn in me picture book. There were no smoke coming from the chimney so the fella might have been sleeping or away hunting tigers, I didn’t know. There , said Becky pointing to a dozen sheep dozing under a gum tree. I knew right then, like being whacked over the head with a piece of ironwood that the sheep were our food. So did the tigers. There were no words said. We all knew we had to do this quickly and quietly. And we knew our part in the hunt.
The tigers ran in a wide arc so they could be behind the sheep while Becky and I herded them. We knew they would turn tail and run. Once we seen the tigers had cut off the sheep’s escape route we ran straight at them. It were only later that I realised I were on all fours. It seemed more natural. We were so good at hunting, and so silent, that we were practically on the sheep before they realised. They tried to flee, but they went straight into the jaws of Dave and Corinna, who ripped the throats of two of the sheep while the others escaped. The horse were afeared and tried to get away but it were tied to a tree. We stood there, the dead sheep at our feet, panting and listening hard to any movement inside the shack. But there were none. I wanted to eat the sheep then