East Wind

• Celia Bosworth, Grade 7
• Short Story
• 2017

The trees rustled and the wind whispered in the child's ears. You were lost but now you are found. They call me East Wind in their language and I speak it, but it is not my tongue. I am one of them, but not theirs. I came from the white men, they say, but I am theirs. They raised me, protected me as their own but, I am not. I came from the cattle men lost but found. Apparently they looked for me, the white men, but they found nothing. I was little when I was lost but now I am older. I don't live with them anymore. I am by myself now. I come and go now. To the village I mean.
The cattle men scare us. They chase and catch the brumbies and livestock. Not caring about them. There is one of the brumbies that trusts me. None of the other ones do because I am white. It is a fine looking exquisite beast, the dark melancholy eyes. Her coat is the colour of the sky in the latest hour of the darkest night. She is not part of the herd, she is different, a loner but strong. I think she was once one of the cattle men's. We are strangely connected to each other but, none of that matters any more. We respect each other. It is enough. But it is a friendship.
The sound of our footfalls forever running, Changes the meaning of one, I may have lost my family but I have found them. Here.