Bagini

Just looking at him she knew that he was not one of the children of the land.  Nor was he a 'mrat'. She could see that plainly.  No,  he was not of her country. His resonance was not the same as hers. Yet he did have a song. No, she decided he was a child of some country, but not hers.


She had eavesdropped at the campfires of the children of the land and heard them talk of the 'mrats' who had the power of 'Brewin'. Light-skinned and light-eyed, some with hair flaming, others with hair of dry grass. All with a pointed stick, 'boo boo' that put 'bulk' into a man and the magic of the 'mulla mullung'could not drive it out before he was dead. And if not the 'boo boo' then some other magic that brought on sickness and death. Yes, the children of the land are having some sorry times. Looking at him again she thought, "You are not a mrat and not a spirit of the land either. The children of the land are wrong"


The man turned to look where the rustling sound had come from. He felt a small fear creep into him as he stood so close to such a great bird. The emu now motionless seemed to be staring straight at him.


The surveyor knelt to put the last logs on his evening campfire. The night was cool so he would not be as bothered by the insects that had plagued him earlier. Perhaps this late in the autumn had been a good time to undertake this expedition he thought to himself. It was a clear night and the spot he had chosen for his camp was ideal. The ground was soft and dry and the grass tussocks that had obviously been grazed were short and made for  a comfortable bed. A creek with accessible clean water was nearby and its gentle gurgling was a pleasant companion.


As he settled himself into his swag he thought how nice it was to be alone in such a perfect example of God's creation, away from the base camp and its mix of uncouth humanity.  Here he would sleep restfully.
It was the clean, fresh smell of moist earth and leaves that awakened his nostrils. Then the silken softness of hair brushing his cheek. He had known a few woman but all of them perfumed and powdered, plump softness admist a confusion of skirts and petticoats and laced bodices. They beneath their veneer of toilette smelt of the grime and squalor of muddy township streets.


Strong, lithe,slim legs grazed against his and the surveyor was compelled to reach his hand down and feel for the smoothness of rounded hips. Small hands raked their way through the soft hair of his chest.  He felt the weight of her. Again that smell of earth filled his nostrils.  He entered her and felt enveloped in soil. He moved to a perfect rythm .  His being in tune with the land. His senses drowning. The sensations unlike any he could ever imagine. It was as if he could taste the land he was now laying on. He felt the warmth of sunlight on his face, the coolness of breezes in his hair, the singing of water in his ears and the soft moist earth against his skin.  His climax rang out into the stars.


He woke suddenly.  His skin was flushed and damp and a cool breeze was making him cold.  His heart was pounding against his chest and his legs felt weak and lethargic. A swift rustling drew the surveyors attention. He looked and made out the indistinct form of what he thought was an emu escaping.  As he lay back into into his bedding he felt an uncomfortable sensation on his chest.  Closer examination revealed five small scratches like those made by sharp fingernails.