He was starting to gather his bearings after being shipwrecked, for a while he had lost track of days and nights, but after meeting a few of the natives and non-natives of this land he had found time again. He was aware that he had now been walking for days and he thought that he had achieved a good distance in the short time he had been in Nova Scotia, especially since he had already managed to find new homes for three of his quoll babies. The remaining two pups were perched on either shoulder, both little males cuddled up to his neck, tails twined around his throat, keeping them in place. Their mother, Pangari, was curled up asleep in his pack, he could understand her exhaustion as her little boys were usually exuberant and playful, as well as demanding and always hungry. Pan had been busy suckling them, but also hunting for them, finding an abundance of small rodents and birds to feast on.
Despite Pangari's success with hunting Baird had had no luck himself and his reserves of kangaroo jerky were running low, he knew he would have to hunt soon but this was a strange land; there was far too much green. He had not seen any prey animal larger than a rabbit, and while that would keep him going for a while he knew that he needed a large meal that would keep him fed for longer.
He carried on his walk, his hard foot-paw pads almost soundless on the soft loamy floor of the wooded mountains, the crack of wing feathers above him drew his attention. He raised his verdant eyes to spot Gelar, his kookaburra companion flapping from tree to tree. He called quietly to the bird, the accent of his own voice reminding him of home. "Gelar, ya bludger, why don't ya have a Cap'n Cook and see if ya can spot some brekkie?" The bird cackled as quietly as he could before flapping away above the tree canopy and out of sight. Despite Gelar's attempt at subtlety his sharp laughter echoed through the quiet forest, bouncing from trees and reverberating through Bairds yellow furred body. The haunting noise brought back memories of lying in the quiet Australian night, and then the sudden loud call of a kookaburra cracking across the great black sky. He shook his head violently, trying desperately to dispel his thoughts of home.
Gelar's slight weight made him dip his head a little as the brown and white bird landed in his head fur. Baird flicked an ear at the bird, asking silently what he found. The bird cackled again and pointed his impressive beak to the left. Baird offered his hand for the bird to climb down onto, Gelar responded quickly, sidestepping down Bairds wrist to walk up his wire corded arms, finally settling on his shoulder next to the smaller of the male quolls. As soon as Gelar was settled Baird took off at a jog, neatly stepping over obstacles even though this environment was not one he was used to.
Before long he came to a clearing among the trees, a somewhat familiar but entirely new scent filtering through his powerful nose, he raised his head and peered through the tree cover, spotting the large brown shapes that moved slowly, heads bowed and long, elegant legs taking a small step every now and then. The deer were grazing, and as they hadn't spooked he was sure that he was downwind and they hadn't heard his approach. He raised his nose to the air and sniffed, confirming his downwind position. He set about preparing himself for the hunt; this would be his first big kill in Nova Scotia. In Australia he had only taken down a deer once and then he had had his brothers help. He knew he was big for a dingo, but he didn't know if he was big enough to take down a deer on his own, he hoped he was.
His kangaroo leather haversack made no noise as he let it slip to the ground, he knelt next to it and opened it slowly, unwilling to startle the sleepy Pangari. Luckily the quoll mother was awake, he gave her an affectionate smile before placing her two sons in the pack with her, at that she didn't look so pleased. He chuckled quietly, "Strewth! Don't spit the dummy Pan, Keep 'em hush while I get us some brekkie." He plunged his hand-paw into the bag and rummaged until he found his bone dagger. He stood and thrust it through the band of his cow hide loincloth, knowing that his claws and teeth might not be enough to take the deer down in this form. He held out his hand for Gelar to step onto, throwing the bird into the air to help him with his take-off. He watched the bird fly up to a branch out of the way and start preening. He nodded once, sinking into a hunting crouch and creeping forward toward the deer, not knowing that not that far away someone else had ideas of taking down a deer.
Photo courtesy of pierre pouliquin
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