It felt like two eternities for the ghostly creature to navigate the remaining trail between them and arrive at long last a small distance behind the patiently waiting, watching buck - near enough anyway to attract long, drooping ears and slim patterned nose to turn in that direction. Green eyes widened amid an increasingly quizzical expression and a half-smile betrayed his amusement when at last he could view her with some accuracy. What exactly was this in a land of feathers and deer (most of whom he’d met so far seemed to be one of the two, or part thereof)? “Kangaroo’s loose in the top paddock again…” Banjo muttered beneath his breath, entertaining the idea that, should he turn and leap right then, butterfly wings might sprout from his shoulders and bear him away to paradise…

Or perhaps he’d crossed that bridge already?

Like the soft, white mountain-mist playing between the purple creature’s tentative stride, the mane which should ordinarily have fallen like a heavy cascade of winter-melt upon her, did the exact opposite. What appeared to be intangible tresses, danced like bright blue, boundless flame instead about her broad coloured shoulders; alive, weightless, pulled too and fro by the wind and utterly captivating! She was like nothing he had ever seen before, and there was no mistaking that fact as he slumped into a senseless stupor, staring  and smiling all the while. It never crossed his mind that she was doing more or less the same - though in a far less obtrusive manner.

The horsaroo was stirred back to the present moment most suddenly by a queer whisper on the wind; a feminine breath passing, that was actually more like a voice, with tone, and all inside his head…? Narrowing eyes hastened to find the speaker lurking on the path ahead, but there was nobody there - he was sure. Very slowly he glanced upwards, surveying the rude juts and impassable slope of the rock. No way! Then Banjo looked down carefully, pressing the length of his brawny frame as near to the mountain on the opposite side as he could. “What the heck?” he concluded finally, not exactly sure who was talking, or where they were. It did occur to him for a fleeting moment that she, the flowy thing behind, might have uttered it; but how could that be…

“It’s you? …wait… nah…”

Eyes landed heavily upon her, careful, cautious, disbelieving. Forgetting the question asked of him, he tested the theory - “Cat got ya tongue girlie?” What a stupid ass he probably looked, and the buck absolutely expected the backlash of one insulted by such a blunt greeting. Only it wasn’t meant to sound so; he wanted to touch her, see if she was real, but the blasted track just would not allow it. Ironically, right at that moment, an overgrown sheep appeared to steal the limelight, but the mountaineer's glory was short lived - the voice in his head returned freakishly and green eyes swept instantly back to the stranger.