Two scenes left before I have the book half done.

“Kill it!” Poir was screaming from the head of the wagon. “Oh Daughter, oh Michaela, kill it, kill the bastard!” He held a long steel club in his hand but it dangled limp, as if he were frozen in place. Sweat shone across his pink brow and his mouth hung open. He licked his lips. “Bach, help her!”

The old man ran. The beast was coming back down the slope, head lowered, the bristles of its beard dragging trails in the sand. There was blood dried black on its jaws.

Its eyes met his, and he swore later that it nodded and acknowledged him before it charged.

In the moment it took to raise his sword the sandpig closed the distance, and the old man had just enough time to slash out blind and throw himself to the side. There was a great rush of wind, and a stink of rotten meat, and then the world vanished behind a spray of white sand. He spat and wiped his eyes clean. The sandpig had stopped short of the wagons, pawing at the ground. It wheeled for a second charge.

He was ready.

The long white tusks gouged trenches from the sand. He expected the beast to roar, but it came at him silently. The earth thudded beneath his feet.

He tensed, all the way through his toes. One breath.

He dove, and swung.

The impact ran all the way up his arm and into his teeth. Pain shot up his wrist as the scimitar was torn from his fingers. Coarse hair like the bristles of a broomstick brushed his cheek as the sandpig passed.

He didn’t have time to stand before it hit him. The sky was below and the dunes were above and then a crack echoed up his spine as he landed head-first in the sand. All was pain, from his legs up into his skull. He tried to breath and cold fire spread through his ribs. Splinters digging into his lungs, his heart.

He raised his head from the sand. The pig was coming back. Slowly, though; it listed, dragging its left foreleg as it stumbled. His blade still shone where it had stuck fast, just above the sandpig’s knee.

He could see now, that it wasn’t blood on the sandpig’s jaw. It had no lower jaw at all, and what he’d thought was dried gore was the hollow of its mouth. The creature’s tongue dangled from its open throat.

The old man tried to stand and his legs gave way. “Help,” he said, but all he could do was groan. The sandpig was gaining speed even as it limped. He could hear the sputter of its breath as it wheezed through blood-clogged nostrils. “Help-”

The first arrow hit with a sound like a slap. The sandpig reared, twisting to butt at the arrowshaft jutting from its shoulder. It drummed on the sand with its long, sun-bleached tusks.

Atop the wagon-train were two silhouettes. The priest, tall and slender and motionless. Beside him, the boy. Little Poir raised his bow and drew.

The second shot went high, and the sandpig charged the train.

I discovered today that Nyss and I officially live below the poverty line.

As defined by the Melbourne Institute of Applied Economic and Social Research (the dudes who update the official poverty line statistic), a couple in the workforce earning less than $537.07 a week are below the poverty line. We're well below that. And yet, somehow, life is cushy. We eat very very well, we have more computers in this house than we have limbs to use them with, we have a great book collection and an LCD TV, internet... We've never struggled with rent. We've never had to skip a meal. Our cat eats real meat seven days a week.

So how does one live below the poverty line, and live well? This is a pretty important topic for any aspiring writer - it's very rare that any author will find a full-time income from writing, let alone find one without several years (or decades) of hard struggle. But, if you have your head screwed on straight, you can live for very little in Australia. You just have to not be a nong.

1) Don't have debts. We don't have any credit cards or loans to deal with, which means that every dollar we earn is OUR dollar. Credit cards are a tool of the devil, and only serve to encourage you to buy shite you don't need.

2) Don't have any addictions. Primarily, that means quit smoking, don't drink every day, and get that needle out of your vein. But it also means stop buying books you'll never read, and stop collecting videogames you don't have time to play, and what the hell do you really need another anime figurine goddamnit? You have limited money. Keep it for things you need.

3) If your stuff still works, don't buy new stuff. You don't need another kettle just because the old one is ugly. If the leg on your coffee table is wobbly, fix the bloody thing. Do the curtains still block the sun? Then they're good enough. Use the things you have until they're broken beyond repair.

4) Eat less junk. Proper food is actually cheap as chips, if you know where to shop. Get to a farmers market and buy meat and veg in bulk - you can almost always get a small discount for purchases over 2 kilos. Turn up during the last half hour of trading and you'll get your food cheaper again. How can people not afford to eat when good carrots are $2 a kilo, potatoes are $1.50 and quality beef rump is $6 a kilo? It hurts me when I see families pushing trolleys full of chips and coke and microwave bullshit. A single microwave meal is $5 - for that, you could buy four entire meals worth of lamb chops. NOM NOM NOM. STOP BUYING SNACKS.

5) Also, eat less meat. Most Aussies eat far too much red meat, and you can still have a tasty meal with the meat spread thin. When I lived with my parents, we'd often have two or three sausages each, per meal. Now Nyss and I buy sausages from the market and split them. Half a sausage each is all you need when it's backed up with fresh veg and couscous.

6) Drink lots of tea. I don't know if it'll keep you healthy, but it sure is tasty, and it costs a lot less than coke. $10 gets you 300 Dilmah teabags - about 100 liters of tea, all up. Also, it makes you look sophisticated.

7) You don't need to have a drink after work with the boys. Especially since you know you'll end up buying at least one round.

8 ) Buy a good pair of leather boots and treat them nice. They'll last a decade.

9) Take public transport. Buy a monthly ticket and share it between you and your partner on days when only one of you has to travel.

10) Don't have kids.

11) Seriously, don't have kids.

There are so many other tips I could leave here, so many little ways we've found of saving money. For example, don't buy icecream or other pricey desserts! As I type this, we're sharing a banana for dessert. It's goddamn delicious. Also, disconnect all your appliances at the power point when you're done using them. Your power bill will drop through the floor. Get all your family on the same cheap phone plan so you can have infinite free calls to each other. Crochet your own cat toys. Buy clothes from thrift shops. Steal your neighbours wireless internet.

Times are tight for pretty much everyone. If you have a cash-saving tip, share it here!

At Woolworths today with the proto-wife, battling through the self-checkout system. After five minutes of screaming and the checkout failing to register the weight of a single item, we called over the service girl.

Me: I think this one's a bit bollocksed.
Service Girl: *sigh* They're all bollocksed.