The plane's engines growled as the tiny little piece of machinery threw itself along the runway, jerking upwards a couple of times. It wanted to lift off, but it wasn't quite there yet. Isaac was clinging to the seat, his knuckles white, and his eyes screwed shut as he tried to ignore the feeling that they were hurtling down the runway and they weren't going to make it and ohgodtheywereallgoingtodie!

The plane lifted up smoothly, though, and Isaac sighed, relaxing and trying to ignore the rising feeling of nausea rising in the back of his throat. He closed his eyes, listening to Henry and the one other passenger in the plane as they talked, smirking slightly at the Australian accents. They were... very thick, but not as thick as the guy he'd met. Henry's son.

Isaac's mouth twisted into a scowl as he remembered the boy's last words. He'd lifted a hand casually, waved, and called something up to him like “Have a good flight,” but with a mocking look in his eyes and a quirk in his lips that made it seem like he was doing it maliciously. Damn it. The plane hit a spot of turbulence as it climbed higher, and Isaac scrabbled for the airsick bag and vomited into it, with a sound that was as unappealing as the contents of the bag, frankly. He collapsed back in the chair, ignoring Henry's sympathetic look, and shut his eyes.

Small planes were so much worse then big ones. He wished he was in the truck that was somewhere below them, working its way slowly towards Yaln. Even if it did mean a day and a half in Chris' company.

---

Somehow, Isaac had managed to fall asleep about half an hour out of Perth. They'd been flying over the Hills, then, thick scrub beneath them, and the occasional house winking out from between the trees, some with lights on, disgruntled early-risers starting their days and their lives, others... well. Others were lucky enough to be able to sleep in.

It wasn't until they were a few minutes out of Meekathura airport that Henry shook Isaac awake, somewhat tentatively. He didn't want the boy to be sick on him or anything.

'Isaac.” He said softly, shaking him gently again. Isaac started awake with a gasp, and an exclamation that sounded rather like “Mghphmb!” He looked around sleepily, frowning a little as the other passenger turned his face aside a little to hide the little smirk that was gracing his lips.

“Are we nearly there yet?” Isaac turned to Henry with a clear expression of hope in his eyes.

Henry shook his head, “Sorry, Mate. We're almost at Meekathura. It'll only be another hour long flight from there, and then a bit of a hike in the car.” Isaac nodded, stretching, his arms above his head, eyes closed, and mouth open in a blissful sigh.

Turning his head, he glanced out the window, a sharp breath hissing out his teeth in shock at the change the past hour's flight had wrought on the land beneath them. Now, when he looked out the window, it wasn't thick bushland, virgin forest. It was red. Red dust, red sand. There was desert extending for miles in any direction, the morning sun gleaming on the rich color that spread like a carpet beneath the small plane. There weren't any buildings as far as he could see, apart from the small cluster that they were fast approaching, that Isaac supposed was the 'town' of Meekathura.

He watched, entranced, as they got closer and closer to the group of buildings and the airport, until they'd almost touched down, and he'd forgotten to be sick. He looked surprised as the Captain shouted back a reminder for them to fasten their seat belts, and wordlessly did so, still looking a little stunned that he wasn't spending his last few minutes of the flight nose-first in a paper sack.

The landing was smooth, but it still made Isaac feel like his joints were being shaken undone, that his stomach was going to back flip up his throat and that his eyeballs were going to be jiggled out of their sockets.

Henry noticed how stressed he was and smiled slightly, leaning over and tapping his white knuckles. “These arm rests are going to have the marks from your nails scarred in them forever, now! You've left your mark!” He laughed. Deliberately, slowly, a finger at a time, Isaac released the arm rests and waited to be given permission to leave the plane.

---

Three and a half hours later, Isaac was practically dropping off where he was sitting. He hadn't been pleased to learn that after they'd got off the last aeroplane, they still had another three hours of traveling time. This time, in a car. After 32 hours of traveling time, he was too tired to be sick, though. He could thank God for small mercies.

Slowly, the car pulled to a gentle halt, and Isaac woke up grogily. Were they there? He sat up, rubbing his eyes, only to blink at the sound of a car door closing. The boy who'd brought the four wheel drive for them to come home in scrambled out of the car to open the gate, and then came back, sliding into the car and shutting the door. "Let's go." He said, and they drove on. And on. And on.

Just when Isaac was despairing about ever actually reaching the house, sunk back in the seat with his hands over his eyes and his knees curled up to his chest, they pulled up in front of a rather large house. Slowly, Isaac uncurled himself, opening the door and stepping out of the car, staring up at the hime he'd left when he was eight, the one he'd thought he'd never have to come back to, a lump in his throat. What was he doing here?

He didn't have time to ponder his purpose in life. Someone up at the house called his name, and what could be do put lower his gaze from the attic window that had been his bedroom, and wave at them. His hand froze as he realised that it was his Father. He recognised him, even when he'd been convincd that he wouldn't. The man walked briskly along the length of the veranda, beaming the whole way, and pulled him into a rough hug. "Heya Son!" He said, firmly pounding him a few times on the back in what he imagined was an affectionate way. Isaac coughed and sneezed, thrown forward against the bigger man every time he thumped him, and trying not to touch him that much. He couldn't help it, really, though. His nose was buried somewhere in the vicinityof his Father's armpit, he noticed, a little distracted from the welcome his Dad was giving him as he tried to squirm away. Damn it, he was so dirty!

"Hey, Dad." He said, finally wrestling himself away from him. "Good to be here." He looked around the yard of the homestead, wondering if a lie had ever been more obvious.