Three people, a man and two women, walked along a stony track that followed the perimeter of a small grey lake. A bird looking down, if it were interested, might think they were one of a kind, triplicates of the same person: they were all heavily clothed and trudged single file (Rowena, Will, Kim) in shoes with thick soles; they each had a small backpack slung over one shoulder; the tips of their noses were pink and wet, like puppies.
They were silent, and anyone observing them—the man across the lake whose task it was to put out the meat, or the woman in the gift shop watching people get out of their cars, or any of the other visitors come to see the birds—might suppose them to be some configuration of a family unit. Anyone bored enough with their present company and looking for something to distract them might think they were reeling from a recent argument. Perhaps something blew up suddenly in the small space of the car, such was the grim expression on Kim’s face.
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