Sleepy Fox Hollow will you sing for me, even when i'm gone?

he watches from the lower slope, hooves planted in dirt that’s still warm from the sun. watching with careful eyes, flaring nostrils in two fast gusts to note her scent. it carries the undertones of a strong mare.
but wolf doesn’t call. he just shifts upon his weight, tail flicking with one lash. gravel slides beneath thick hooves as he begins to descend the slope he stationed upon. when she stops, he follows her gaze, slow.
the flowers catch the last light. he doesn’t care for them, but he sees why she does. wolf does not have the look of a stallion who is seeking to claim or harass, curious brown eyes watching. something familiar lingering, mixed within her scent—or maybe it is someone else entirely.