Storm over Musgraves

I knew this wind meant business, dangerous business. I rushed to Dad and told him the whole story—the wind, the sparks, the wild fire, and my little blue bowl.
‘What campfire?’ Dad smacked his lips, yawned and turned over.

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The T-Team with Mr. B (31)

“Matt, ma boy, do be careful. Don’t go too far from camp. A bull might get you.” Mr. B squinted in the direction of distant thumping, then rolled over and resumed snoring.
A monstrous brown hulk loomed through a cloud of dust.

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Sunday Snaps

A gentle breeze carried the scent of sweet spring water as well as the sound of rustling leaves. With the hope that our search was over, Dad and I picked up speed passing the plodding young men.

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Forced to Simplify

In the light of the half moon, fire, and gas-lamp, Dad prepared a meal of pea and ham soup, damper, and chocolate pudding with custard for dessert. As we licked our plates clean, Dad motioned to my brother (MB). ‘How much money have you got?’
MB stopped mid-way through a swipe of plate, tongue sticking out. He shook his head, and shrugged. ‘Nothing,’ he lisped.

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Water Release

Dad stopped the Rover and then stepped out. ‘I think I saw something.’
MB leaned over the edge of the roof. ‘What’s he doing?’
I shrugged. ‘Beat’s me.’
Dad trundled down the patchy road.
My older cousin (C1) jumped down from the roof rack. ‘Oh, he’s got something in his hands.’

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