Kintla Flatlands ₐｗₒₒₒₒₒ!

Voices called out in the night, echoing off the mountains, lilting over the valley grasses, and whistling like wind in the trees. One took up the tune, and another, and another. Louis, on his solitary walk, paused to gaze up at the moon.

Strangers, these songs. Or if he knew any, they were obscured by the parade of answering mysteries. But something in his heart tugged. As a child his family would lift their noses to the starlit sky and call out for kin. Miles and miles apart on the endless tundra, they would find each other nonetheless. Though the spaces between them were vast, you could always come home again.

Practically he knew he was too far away for them to hear him, here. He had crossed an expanse to find places untread by his kin. No on else would be listening for his voice. Yet something tugged and ached in his heart nonetheless. Some kind of sorrow. Some kind of hope. 

A short, hoarse yip broke loose from his chest. And then a high, sharp howl that lilted with the breeze ruffling his fur.

The calls echoing back might be strangers. Maybe one day those tales would twine with his, or maybe tonight would be the last they ever heard of each other. Either way, they were each of them a story. And for a moment, for a night, for forever, they were none of them truly alone.