The Floodlands With a melody from the mourning band

The wolf returned her call, and she too deduced what she could; the next howl she gave was lower in pitch, and as she closed her jaws on the note some her cry undulated.  Then she, too, moved toward the source, her strides long and purposeful. She did not guess who she might come across, not due to the potential that expectations may lead to disappointment but due to her utter lack of creativity. The path to the herd veered in the opposite direction, but Kuasak would not forget that. They were still near. The land began to gradually become wetter, sopping still from runoff. She paused there, sniffing the air and observing her surroundings.