Someone had been there. Halfway across the clearing, sooted rocks were in a circle, charred branches. Bones of a possum or bird heaped up. A snack for some late-night traveller – a thief, perhaps. Hidden in tī kouka and undergrowth at the clearing’s edge, Van watched. No movement. Nothing down by his hut or the mine face. He scanned his camp a moment more, then went on round its edge under cover.