Monsoon? says Gaius. In Tasmania?
That does seem strange, says Baudin.
What else could Du Fresne have been saying? asks Gaius. What is blueshine?
Let's look at this from a nautical angle, says Baudin.
Yes, says Gaius. Blueshine is possibly water. What is the monsoon?
A lagoon? suggests Baudin. Perhaps he is in one.
The paperbark canoe! says Gaius. Surely he hasn't tried to commandeer it again.
He decides to call Barb, of the Friends Of Melaleuca.
What was her number?.....
Drat! He doesn't have it.
This may take some time.
....
Meanwhile the quoll and the Tzeet are making their way to the spot where the quoll last saw Sweetheart.
She was here, says the quoll.
Should we wait? asks the Tzeet. Did she say she'd be returning?
No, says the quoll. But I don't think she'd come far. How about singing loudly?
Singing? says the Tzeet. Okay.
He doesn't start singing.
Go on, says the quoll.
What to sing? says the Tzeet.
Do you have a mating song? asks the quoll.
That would be inappropriate, says the Tzeet.
Huh? says the quoll.
If she comes, says the Tzeet. She'll think I....
So what, says the quoll. Don't overthink things, that's my motto.
I like that, says the Tzeet.
He sings a mating song loudly.
Twiddly-dee!
Nice, says the quoll. Now we wait and see what happens.
Nothing happens.
Maybe it's me, says the quoll. I'll head off and look for some dinner.
What about me? says the Tzeet.
Don't push your luck, says the quoll. I'll be back shortly.
He goes off to look for something brown, plump and tasty.
The Tzeet sings again.
Twiddly-dee!
Flutter flutter!
O! Look who's coming!
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