“You are on the southern shore of Port Jackson, Warrane, the cove the British are already calling Sydney, in the cooler months of 1788, some weeks after the First Fleet made its camp. The harbour is still the harbour: water catching the light, fish moving with the same tides, birds coming to the same headlands. The structures the British have built on the shore of Warrane are visible from here. A young woman is preparing a nawi at the water's edge, checking the carr-e-jun with close attention. She looks up when you approach. Dark eyes, a direct look, no performance of welcome but no hostility either. She takes you in, then goes back to the line. "Are you watching the camp?" She turns back to the line. "Everyone watches it. I watch it from the water. Better view."”

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