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On a dusty roadside campsite at sunset, Wunyungar kneels beside his small pitched tent, clutching an almost-empty water bottle. Fading orange light meets emerging stars overhead, casting soft dusky shadows across the red earth.
All day, Wunyungar walked the dusty road, heading towards Archer River. His water was nearly gone. No cars had seemed to be nearby to pass him. The sun started to dip low. He pitched his small tent and whispered, “I’ll rise early and Stars blinked as he rested.
Under a sprawling gum tree on the roadside, morning sun already glaring, Wunyungar sits cross-legged in dappled shade, ears tilted to birdsong. Harsh light burns dust beyond the tree’s cool shadow.
Early light, he woke with birdsong and waited. Heat climbed quickly. “Find shade,” he told himself, slipping beneath a gum tree. Quietly, he listened. “Keep walking,” his ancestors seemed to say.
On the sun-baked highway near Archer River, midmorning glare, Wunyungar stands amid swirling brown dust, one arm shielding his eyes while the other waves urgently. Through the thinning haze, a massive silver water truck looms forward.
Next morning, he set off toward Archer River. A distant brown cloud billowed. “Dust storm?” he gasped, shielding his eyes. The haze thinned—revealing a huge water truck. Wunyungar waved both arms high.
At a roadside stop under blazing noon light, the parked water truck gleams beside red dirt. Truck Driver leans from the cab smiling while Wunyungar fills plastic bottles at the hose, gratitude bright on his face.
The truck stopped with a friendly hiss. A driver leaned out. “Need water?” he called. “Yes, please!” Wunyungar replied, filling every bottle. Thankful and hopeful, he walked on, safe toward Archer River.