Read Online The Children Of The Mist by Jenny Brigalow - Free Book Online

him. I don’t think it’s occurred to Morven that he’s got a thing for her.’
    Clifford grunted. ‘Probably just as well.’
    They were both silent. The moonlit landscape spread before them in ghostly splendour. Bats fluttered in among the treetops and an owl hooted softly. The water lapped gently on the river bank and moths fluttered frantically around the lamplights. Shelley sighed and settled back into her chair. She thought of Morven, so pale and sick in her bed. ‘Clifford,’ she said softly, ‘we did do the right thing, didn’t we?’
    Her husband reached out and gently squeezed her hand. ‘Of course we did, Shelley.’
    It was the answer she had expected. It was the same one that he gave every time. It was certainly the response that she wanted to hear. But deep down, in a secret part of her soul, she was never, ever, quite sure.

Chapter 10
    Zest paused at the road. He took in a deep breath of night air. Filled as he was with nervous energy he found it hard to think. To make a decision. What he ought to do was head for the nearby freeway and hitch a lift. But the moon smiled her silvery smile, and the shadows danced and beckoned at his feet. Around him the world was alive. Not filled with the hustle and bustle of men, but with the fulsome richness of the animal kingdom. He could hear the pitter-patter of tiny possum feet above, and the soft pad of a cat behind. An owl winged softly by and a rat swam in the river. His nose was assaulted by a catalogue of intriguing scents. It was hard to think.
    He put his board down and hopped on. Better get to the freeway. He was late for his Wolf’s Bane. Just as he pushed off with the ball of his foot, he heard it. He froze. Waited. And there it was again. The long, mournful cry of the dingo. A lonely male. Like me, Zest thought. He could still feel the rapid beat of Morven’s heart close to his own. He could remember the scent of her hair. And his fear still threaded through his veins. He had thought she was dying. The residue of his grief seemed to swell his loneliness. Then, somewhere to the north, there came an answering call. And another, and another.
    The thought of returning to the cold comfort of his empty caravan suddenly seemed too much. He could not bear to be alone this night. He knew he should be sensible. Be good. But he was sick of being good. Responsible. Reasonable. Righteous.
    The dingoes came together in chorus and Zest felt his blood rise. Missing his Wolf’s Bane dose for one night wouldn’t kill him. He grinned. Couldn’t vouch for anyone else though. He left his board and headed north. Running. With each loping stride he felt his inhibitions slipping away. The sound of his pounding feet echoed off the walls of the town houses. Dogs barked. And he barked back. Finally he slipped through a garden and into the edge of the forest.
    In the shadows of the moon-soaked trees he lifted his head and let out a howl. A sound filled with all the sorrow and loneliness of his kind. The pack answered and he headed up the stony, steep incline. Halfway up the pack met him. They greeted him with small yips of excitement. The dominant male jumped up and placed his paws upon Zest’s chest. The golden dog gently placed his jaws around Zest’s throat. With all the required protocol dealt with, the pack relaxed. A couple of half-grown pups sidled up to him, laughing and panting with self-conscious embarrassment. Zest pretended not to see them until they were almost at his feet. With a loud ‘Hah!’ he made a sudden leap at them. It was all the excuse the pair needed. They took off into bush; Zest, laughing, followed.
    Unwary birds scattered in their path, screeching and scalding their displeasure. Wallaby’s bounded away, zigzagging frantically through the heavy scrub. Their scent lingered in the breeze but Zest took no notice, too involved in his game of tag. Filled with ecstatic joy he ran and