He knew the instant the snake struck. A large king brown, a good six feet in length. He didn’t know how long his death would take or how much pain might accompany it, but he was aware the sight would not be pretty. ‘Get back to the homestead, Emily, and fetch help,’ he said. Quelling as best he could the fear that accompanied his awful knowledge, he kept his voice authoritative: ‘Hurry along now, there’s a good girl.’ There was no point in her fetching help, he would be dead long before her return, but if his daughter were to witness his death she might panic and lose her way home. It was imperative he give her a sense of purpose. Legs outstretched on the dusty red earth, he leant his burly frame back against the rock, the very rock with the very crevice from which the snake had darted its head. The very rock he’d steadied his hand upon while leading the way down to the rock pool. He’d so wanted to share with his daughter this oasis, this perfect gift of nature nestled in the desert.
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