It was not till the moon rose that I realised the storm clouds had moved on; the sky was black and the ground soaked. Over the gully, a creamy moon eased itself up, getting higher, whiter and smaller, till it was a perfect silver circle high in the sky. Without a cloud blanket, we were in for another cold one.
The night was broken and the dogs were restless. The old dog seemed awake most of the time, an occassional soft growl from the floor, one of those 'I know something you don't but should' kind of growls, and the pup was unusually unsettled. By first light both of them were nudging at the verandah door, so we opened up early. There it was, a big heavy frost, everywhere white, including the breath.
Staring at it all, my eye caught a small dark shadow far down the lawn, as if some little thing had died. I hurried over the ice. Oblivious to its predicament, alone through the night, lay one of K's black leather shoes. The puppy must have taken it out last thing for the wombat, a little present for Wally.
