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wasn’t. Mr Sowby’s drinking had become heavier. Colin would hear the truck driving in late, and the arguments Mr Sowby would have with his wife on the nights she locked the door and abused him out the window. The trousers landed in the mud at Colin’s feet and Mr Sowby stayed long enough to watch him put them on. Then he turned back into the house and Colin was alone again, and he liked that better.
    The slush of yesterday had turned solid with the cold, making it easier to run, and the movement slowly warmed him, so each step hurt his bare feet a little less. They ask me to fix fences but they give me no wire, Colin practised in his head, they don’t feed me like they should, they don’t even let me inside with them, and in his head the Welfare Officer, who would be warm and kind but strong too, strong enough to stand up to them both, smiled and nodded and wrote things down.
    Colin followed the muddy hoofprints through the gate, which the night before, Mr Sowby had forgotten to close. The patched hole farther up the fenceline had held. To the northeast a small semicircle of pink was testing out the morning sky. Colin walked on, up the hill into the beginning of the scrub that still smelt of last week’s burn-off. He heard crashing above him; the cows hadn’t strayed far. It wouldn’t take so long then. Time enough to shit. Better here than down at the longdrop. He squatted facing the valley, the first rays hitting the tops of the bush-covered mountains on the other side, the lakes still dark at this hour, and too broken up with the wind to sparkle anyway.
    ‘I could’ve killed you, ya know, and you wouldn’t even have seen me.’
    Colin froze. His heart stopped, his breathing waited, his bowels tightened and he forgot the ache in his legs. He listened to the silence, unable to turn, or move, or even speak.
    ‘Don’t let me stop you. It’s a beautiful view wouldn’t you say?’
    The voice was different. It didn’t belong here.
    ‘Go away.’
    ‘I’m not watching you, ya know. I’m looking at the same thing you are.’
    It was the accent, a voice from another place, without the sharp twang of the locals, but that wasn’t what stopped Colin’s blood. He’d heard it before, inside his head, inside his dreams.
    ‘What’s that?’ Not wanting to give his fear away.
    ‘The land I own.’
    ‘You’re not old enough to own land.’
    ‘How do you know that, when you haven’t even seen me?’
    But I have, Colin thought. ‘You don’t sound old.’
    ‘You should use grass you know.’
    ‘You’re younger than me.’
    He was. Colin could see that, now he was standing and could face the stranger. And whiter too, he could have said. The boy’s mass of hair was just as red in real life, and his face was so pale it shone. It was the same boy, Colin was sure of it, and the certainty terrified him.
    ‘Not too young to be laird of this.’ He swept his hand dramatically before him. ‘You from Sowbys’ aren’t you?’
    ‘Yeah.’
    ‘I’m your boss then, your real boss. The land they’re on is mine. I’m Dougal. You won’t mind if I don’t shake your hand. You have especially warm shit by the way. It’s still steaming.’
    ‘It’s a cold morning.’
    ‘This isn’t cold. Back home a day like this we’d go swim ming.’
    ‘Then you’re stupid as well as a liar.’
    ‘Who are you calling a liar?’
    ‘Who does it look like?’
    ‘I dare you to say it again.’ Colin looked at Dougal. It wouldn’t hurt to hit him, just to see if he was real.
    ‘You’re a liar.’
    But Dougal moved too quickly, and all Colin’s saved-up anger fell limp in a glancing blow. Then they were together, and although Dougal was small there was a manic energy about him. As soon as one blow was blocked another was on its way. Colin felt hands at his neck and both boys fell to the ground, rolling through the long grass. Colin tried to fight back, to make some use of all the rage inside, but he could tell Dougal was