Not long after the commencement of the crisis a colony formed on abandoned farming land in the north-east. It wasn’t as if there’d been a government edict – though there’d been plenty of those. There’d been no social media campaign either. When the ‘sufferers’ (many of whom were perfectly happy, having come to terms with there new conditions) talked about it one word kept coming up. But it was no longer abstract, the way it had been before the contagion. Instinct, they agreed. No question. All the answers to what they must do, where they must go, already there for them, before anything was asked. They called it Birdsville. They built homes and nests, depending on there needs, and, though they squabbled, found security in their swelling numbers, and the closeness that had been denied them in their old cities and towns.