Two janjarak black winged stilts have been coming and going from the lake in these dry days as the land waits for rain. They skirt the edge of the water, sometimes stepping into the shallow puddles, bending down, picking from it what they will. They spread a bit, go their own way, but often come back together again. Two together…until this day—another arrives. It comes in closer, gradually, slowly, right at the edge of the water, right at the edge of the boundary between it and the other two stilts. Until it crosses something there, mostly invisible, and one of the pair flap-hops over to it and pushes the new arrival further away—its mate follows on slightly behind. The solitary one moves off a bit, but obviously not far enough, so the flap-hop repeats, and the solo bird moves off again, further from the water, further from the pairing’s edge.