Simon strolled at a leisurely pace towards the 4th old Moreton Bay Fig tree from the herb garden. He was a fine looking bloke for his vintage, long and lean, golden brown skin and green eyes, eyebrows like flapping magpies, distinguished long white beard, spiky mullet, and his pipe.

There was Frank, snoozing under the tree, his hat draped across his face, backpack being used as a pillow.

"Eh, Albatrossy, wake up!" (Simon calls all his mates Albatrossy)

Frank sat up with a start, waving his hands about and shouting "get the hell off"

bad dreams, thought Simon, this man having bad dreams.

As he got up and smoothed his hair back, Daintree Frank felt something wet on his throat. Touching it, he looked at his fingers to see...

blood.

Jeez, the mozzies are bad today, he thought.