The Tangle The night was heavy and the air was alive

His call is returned with full, elegant notes, and he blinks.  He's never heard anything quite so pretty; had he ever even heard someone sing?  His thoughts don't linger upon it for too long, because soon enough he's able to find her.  He doesn't know that the pair is like a younger version of their mother and father — he, the dark and handsome soldier, and she the soft and solemn version of her mother, who had also once been lost and scared all alone in the wilds.  

With how dirty she is, he can barely tell what colour she is, and since she's been gone from home so long she barely smells like it anymore.  But he can tell that her eyes are brilliant and her voice is clear, and that she's been on her own too long to be a scout like him.

Who are you? he queries, first in Trigedasleng (because he's forever hopeful) and then again in common.  Are you lost?