Page 38 - Mobile Magic

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In her oilskin coat and a broad-brimmed, Akubra hat, Saffron felt snug enough. A big bag of grain and pellets was squeezed into her backpack. When she got to the paddock her pony was standing near the empty trough looking soaked and miserable. As Saffron approached, Magic nickered hopefully.
'Here we go gorgeous,' Saffron crooned as she poured out the feed. She sheltered under the wide eave of the corrugated-iron shed and watched her pony eat.
‘Hello, hello, Ronnie! Magic Fourleg ... you eat like a horse. I have been early bird - have caught many worms for my mate,’ called Mobo as he swept in at high speed.
She enquired, ‘Is your nest dry? Do you mind the rain?’
‘Nest is dry, built in hollow of old, dead tree. I come now to Ronnie-nest. See hard-case of radio wave. Little, brown bird want to know - will help fight. Must defend tree home - Green Mountain.’
‘Well then,’ remarked Saffron, ‘I don’t really want to ride this morning and no one else is here riding. Do you want to fly in this heavy rain or do you want a lift? I suppose you would fit in my pocket.’
‘No! No! I will not be enclosed!’ Mobo flew down from the rafter to perch on her shoulder. As he balanced there, half hidden by a screen of dark-blonde curls, he was well sheltered from the lashing rain under the brim of her old, felt hat. As they splashed along deserted streets the bird told her more about life at Green Mountain.