The airport terminal was crowded beyond the (tasteful) metal fences that separated the passengers from the people collecting them. The building was long and thin, more a hallway then an actual building, it seemed. The murmur of people, nervous with anticipation, and eager to see the travelers stepping off the plane, provided pleasant enough background sound. Isaac gave a faintly frustrated sigh as his bag knocked into one of the metal posts, and tangled with the foot of the pole.

The boy ran a hand through his hair, an easily recognizable gesture of irritation, tugging at the handle of his luggage, biting his lower lip. He wrestled it around, it rocked back and forth on two wheels, and then, obligingly, toppled back onto both wheels and stopped rocking. Isaac muttered something, gave it a soft tap with his foot; some might call it a kick, and then wheeled the last small distance to scan the crowd for his Father, now that he was out of the way of the other passengers.

There were dozens of people standing in front of the slow moving crowd of foreigners, whispering to each other and pointing to different passengers. The atmosphere was heavy with excitement, the joy of meetings was practically tangible. The man beside him suddenly gave a laugh and cried out a name as a small girl rushed into his arms, yelling “Daddy!” at the top of her lungs, clinging to the man.

Isaac spared a moment to watch the family as they came together, smiling at the happy scene, before returning to look for his own father. He had no idea how he'd recognize the man: they hadn't seen each other for... well. Since Isaac was seven, nine years ago. At least his Father had photos, he'd be able to recognize his son. And in any case, it wasn't like he could be mistaken for many other people. He had black hair, dyed and neatly cropped, then spiked with hairgel, a fringe hanging over his eyes in an 'emo' type style. His skin was pale, but without the dusting of freckles over his skin that most fair skinned people had, and he had brown eyes. He knew that his Father looked nothing like him, though. He'd taken after his Mother, in many respects. Not least being his rather feminine features, his delicate hands and short and slim build. Once again, he despaired at ever recognizing his Father in the crush of people. In the end, he didn't have to.

“Isaac Sanders?” A man dressed in what had to be the most stereotypical Australian outfit ever stepped forward. Jeans, muddied and dusty boots, flannel shirt, a leather hat. Isaac turned to him, and nodded, confused. This man wasn't his Father.

“Yes, that's me.” His accent was suddenly starkly obvious in comparison to the man's Australian twang. The Australian looked taken aback for a moment at the upper class English accent that emerged from the boy's mouth, but quickly recovered and gave a welcoming smile.

“Welcome to Australia, Mate.” The man said, with a smile as he extended a hand to the English boy. Isaac stared at him for a moment, astonished, before catching himself, and shaking his hand.

“Thanks.” The Australian gave him an odd look at the staring, and Isaac shrugged, an uncomfortable smile on his lips, “I didn't think real Australian's said that.” He mumbled, in explanation. The man laughed, and nodded.

“Yeah, people often are surprised by how close to the truth the stereotype Aussies are.” He beamed at Isaac, reaching past him to take his baggage and hauling it free of the obstacles easily, while Isaac watched on. They walked the short distance to the doors and stood as they waited for the crowd in front of them to leave, all of them laughing and hugging and talking loudly, exclaiming over the latest news, new developments... Isaac and the Australian stood silently, awkwardly.

“Um.” Isaac muttered a little uncomfortably as he looked over at the stranger. “What's your name?” He paused a second, “D-did my Father send you?” He had been under the impression that his Dad was going to pick him up. The disappointment that he'd sent someone else was starting to hit him.

“Henry.” he looked over at the boy, a faint frown tugging at his lips as he realized that Isaac was disappointed his Father hadn't come for him. “I'm the station manager at Yalngan.” He said, by way of explanation, quickly adding; “Your Dad wanted to come, but there was an issue with some of the cattle that needed his attention, so he sent me instead.” Isaac nodded, but was still a little down about it.

“So, how was your flight?” Henry asked, after a moment or two of uncomfortable silence. Isaac looked up at him and thought for a second about the 20-something hour flight from London, where he'd been stuck next to a fat old man, asleep for the whole trip and snoring loudly, and a talkative woman with a baby that wouldn't stop crying, all combined with his violent airsickness, and smiled. “It was good.” The station manager gave a short nod, “That's good.”

They both gave a silent sigh of relief as the doors finally cleared and they emerged into the crisp, rather too crisp, 6 AM air. Henry shivered and hunched his shoulders against the temperature, muttering something about how it was always colder then he remembered out here on the coast. Isaac looked over at him for a second like he was crazy, before he remembered. Right. Australian. No tolerance for cold.. He smiled slightly at the thought, but didn't say anything. They were halfway across the expansive parking lot before either of them spoke.

“So... what now?” Isaac asked curiously, hefting his hand luggage bag higher onto his shoulder. Henry looked over at him and then checked his watch, frowning slightly as he made a quick calculation.

“Well, now we go to the Domestic Airport, and catch the shuttle plane to Meekathura airport... that'll take about an hour and a half. The flight.” He clarified, as he looked over at Isaac. “Then we have half an hour to kill in Meekathura, and we catch the connecting flight to Wiluna.” He glanced around at the cars around them, before spotting someone sitting on a white four wheel drive a little way in front of them. He waved, and started towards them, more confident now about where the car was parked.

“Then it's a three hour drive to Uabur Yalngan.” He said, cheerfully. Isaac looked at the four wheel drive that was parked in front of them, a little confused.

“That isn't our car?” He asked, gesturing towards it. Henry looked over at him and nodded.

“No, it is.” He nodded again, for emphasis. “We figured that you'd have more then 15kgs of luggage, and you can't take more then that on the plane.” He glanced over at Isaac, noticing the dumbfounded expression on his face.

“We're flying there on four person passenger planes. They can't take much baggage, so your suitcase is gonna have to head to Yalngan overland.” Henry said, explaining. “It'll take a couple of days for Chris to make it in the car, but you'll have your stuff within the week.” He smiled cheerfully, not noticing Isaac's sudden lack of colour at the mention of flying anywhere, especially in tiny little planes.

“Ok.” Isaac murmured weakly, then swallowed his discomfort, and turned to the next curiosity item. “Uuber Yalinging?” He asked, mispronouncing the name horribly. Henry laughed, and shook his head.

“U-a-bur Yal-n-gin.” He said, slowly, emphasizing the correct pronunciation. “It means 'One Sun' in the local Aboriginal language, Bandalang. It's the name of your Dad's Station. We decided to honor the Indigenous people when we named the place. We call it Yalngin for short, or just Yaln.” Isaac nodded, taking in the information.

They reached the car with a faint sense of relief on Isaac's part. Henry gestured to the boy who was only now sliding off the bonnet of the four wheel drive, and beckoned him forward. He stepped next to the older man, his hands in his scruffy jeans pockets, bluntly examining Isaac.

“This is my son, Chris.” Henry said, and once he'd mentioned it, the familial resemblance was clear. “Chris, this is Isaac.” He finished off the introduction, stepping back a pace and starting to load Isaac's luggage into the boot.

“Pleased to meet you.” Isaac said with a polite smile and an extended hand. The Australian, Chris, looked down at his hand for a second, smirked, reached out and took it, calloused palm against smooth one. He was completely different from Isaac: his hair was long and unstyled, just tied back in a messy club. He wore a leather hat, like his Father, wearing the same style of jeans and scruffy flannel shirt, though his was a deep, solid red, and he wore a dryzabone over the top, as concession to the cold. Where Isaac's skin was fair and soft, Chris was tanned, and stubbled.

As soon as he opened his mouth, another huge difference between them was obvious. “G'day Mate. So, you're the one who's gear I'm gunna be carting across the desert, huh?” He asked, chuckling to himself, looking over the boy and smirking slightly. The pansy wouldn't last a week in Yaln'. Chris's speech was coarse, his accent obnoxiously thick, and his manner made it clear that he'd been raised out on a farm, without any decent company.

Isaac nodded stiffly, immediately taking a dislike to the uncultured boy. “I suppose so.” He murmured, unobtrusively wiping the hand Chris' had touched on his designer label jeans, sure that the boy's hands were filthy. Chris frowned slightly, blue eyes flicking down at the rude gesture. He opened his mouth to make a comment that likely he'd regret later, when his Father returned. “Ok, I'm done putting your stuff in the four wheel drive. We'll head out to the Domestic airport now, if that's ok, Chris.” He said, talking to his son, clapping a casual hand on his shoulder as he walked past.

The two boys gave each other a long, examining look, and then climbed into the car: one in front, ready to drive, the other climbing into the backseat, alone, and suddenly ready to sleep for as long as God and the world would let him. He settled himself down, and the motor started running. He was almost there, almost at Yaln'. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing.

---

So! My first story on here! I'm excited! Ok, only Australians would get that. Anyway. thanks to my always delightful best bud Gabriel, for your imput regarding Chris.

Review, people, cause, y'know, I'm a lonely little Australian that needs input to garner the confidence to post things? -innocent look- Ok, I'm a praise-whore, I admit it. But please, if you see something that needs fixing or that could be improved, please tell me!

And a note on all the information I use in this fiction, ie: distances and translations of the Aboriginal language. Everything is correct. Towns and the like all exist, though, obviously Uabur Yalngan is my own creation, as are all the characters that you'll come across in The Meaning of Mateship.

Heads up to any Aussies!