The faint path veers right, but three steps to the left on the trackless granite, a different, hidden path beckons. Riley does not hesitate, despite the years.
The afternoon sun is warm as they make their way beneath the looming overhang, but the morning cold lingers in the shadowy depths. Dancer glimpses desiccated animal bones, but Riley’s quick tread allows no close examination, and before he knows it the vista opens on a small glistening valley enclosed on all sides.
The cousins halt as one, hands touching featherishly. Riley, slight and dark. Dancer, heavy-set and gangling all at once, yellow more than brown, like an adder asleep in the sun. The skeleton of the hut is weathered grey beneath the reds and browns of the cliff. The rusted sheets of iron lie amongst the green vegetation like twisted flakes from the rockface. As their eyes sweep across the stark remains, they both see the bones. They hesitate only a moment.
The bones lie with arms folded, at peace. The flesh had withered before the hut’s walls had crumbled, before dingoes or other predators could disturb the remains. Riley shows no fear, even when the skull falls apart at his touch. He merely steps back.
At the foot of the bed is an ancient tin trunk. With the lightest of nudges, Riley elbows Dancer forward. Dancer carefully removes the two smooth stones weighing down the lid. As he reaches out to touch it, the disintegrating skull fills his mind’s eye. He eases the lid open, amazed at how readily it comes free.
A parcel wrapped in oilcloth sits at the top. Dancer gently unwraps it. He senses Riley step closer, feels his cousin’s breath on his shoulder.
There are two pouches of worn leather. He can’t help a small smile as he realises that each is made from the balls sac of an old-man kangaroo. Carefully he lifts them, and holds them up. Riley reaches over to take them.
Bending close, Dancer can just make out the pencilled scrawl on the top page of the fragile, yellowed papers: The Last Will & Testament of William Noakes.