Lost World of the Wends (16)

Joseph shook his head in disbelief. ‘Whatever—Okay, let’s climb this mountain.’ He wasn’t sure they’d get too far. They’d be lucky to get to Earth. First, they have to trace their route up to the mountain, Mt. Martin, then locate the cave, get the portal working, and then transport successfully back to Earth and not some other planet, and then to the same cave through which they came. Too many risks, too many variables and that’s without factoring in Boris. Who knows, Boris might be behind their transport to the lost world of the Wends. For the moment, he wasn’t even sure Amie would find the cave. He thought, I bet she’s a typical woman and can’t follow a Google map to save her life.

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Lost World of the Wends (15)

Amie pranced around the kitchen.
Amie and Joseph were by this time dried and dressed, in their jeans and t-shirts. In contrast to Amie’s and Joseph’s skin-hugging but cool twenty-first century look, this German family seemed swamped and sweating in layers of old world garb. Frau Biar insisted Amie wear a modest wool-knit tunic and blouse with puffy sleeves—colour scheme, monochrome grey and white.
For the next hour while Frau Biar baked biscuits and swept the kitchen floor, again, Amie perspired and itched in her woollen attire.

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MacDonnell Gorges

This morning, we raced along the road parallel to the MacDonnell Ranges, dipping into the gorges, Dad verbally ticking the boxes of gorges visited, speeding in and out of each one, snapping photos just to prove our having been there, done that.

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Boris climbed the first ridge leading to the water-hole. No a policeman nor Indigenous trackers to be seen. ‘Now, where did that Nathan get to?’ Boris spoke to the air and a couple of accompanying flies.
He stopped and surveyed the landscape. The sacred mountain’s cliffs jutted like teeth above the nearby ranges. The atmosphere shimmered in the moist heat. Thunder clouds built up like steam in the west, and tiny flies formed a permanent halo around Boris.

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Journey to Final

Is it to paint a sale-worthy product? Is my goal merely to make money out of my paintings? If it was, then, I might as well pack up my art supplies, store them in the garage, vege-out on the couch and watch Netflix shows.

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C1 and C2 picked out miscellaneous items they’d forgotten to pack. C1 placed his purchases on the weathered bench and reached for his back pocket. He patted it, and his eyes widened. He jammed his fingers into his pocket, patted his side pockets, and pushed his hands into them and pulled out the lining. He glanced around his feet. ‘Oh, oh! I think I left my wallet behind in the creek,’ he said.

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