I look at the clock on the wall and realise with a mix of eagerness and anxiety that it has only been 5 minutes since Jon walked out the door. I groan...a bit loving and hating the anticipation at the same time. I shift again feeling my wetness growing, drops of it sliding down my legs and onto the seat as I once again try to concentrate on the document I am supposed to type up. Instead I find my attention drifting back to the conversation I’d had with Jon just moments ago. Before: I feel Jon. “Look to the east,” Sam said.“Yes?”“That yellowish line is marsh weeds that were growing in the shallows. I’d like you two to harvest as much as possible and bring it here.”“Thatch?”“And possibly flooring.”“Right. So we cut the dry and leave the moist or damp.”“Exactly. Sturt mentions “huts” quite often.”“Soon after we passed close to some gum-trees and found a small dry channel under a sand hill on the other side, running this down we came suddenly on two bough huts, before which two or three. More

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