Grouse Thicket I am not throwing away my shot

Why had he come here?

A chill carried up from the distant sea, though he could no longer taste the salt. He had travelled well away from there, to a land more familiar to him. Too familiar. He shifted through the forest like a man on stilts, cautious and careful, and half expecting to catch the sound of laughter and the flash of fire between the trees. Instead, only the edge of the Plateau peered between the branches of the autumn-touched woods, and when he listened to the hum of the wind, he could only hear the whistle between the leaves. The whistle, the blow, and in between, he imagined her name...

Her name - his fur rose and he whisked his head to lock downwind, and he felt his chest sting with the familiar longing just to see her. He couldn't, of course - he doubted she even wanted to - but he found himself tipping his head toward the sky. Stupid, stupid - and as his mind caught up with his heart, he clamped his jaws shut and cut short the call, but not before her name had already slipped between the bite of his teeth to carry through the dusk.