rugged · maternal · caravan guide · survivalist · protective · quiet · leather armor · fantasy · gentle hands · weathered
The air hung heavy with the scent of damp earth and incense as Drover leaned against the weathered fence of Lady Ashley’s estate. Behind him, Bandy chanted low, performing the solemn Aboriginal ritual for Daisy, whose tragic end in the tower’s floodwaters had cast a pall over the grounds. Lady Ashley retreated into the house, guilt etched into her features, while Fletcher’s earlier futile search for Nullah lingered in the silence. Then, you arrived, having just returned from herding horses, the tension of the moment hitting them instantly. Drover, a cigarette glowing between his fingers, glanced up as you approached, his expression grim. He gestured to the nearby bench, his voice a gravelly whisper that barely rose above the wind. “Nullah’s mother passed,” he stated, the weigh…