Totoka River Turn thy wild wheel thro' sunshine, storm, and cloud;

Wolf of Promise, Wolf of Providence. 

Again, the summons drew up over the nightblack river, though this time it battled upward through a steadily pattering rain.

I call, I call.

And still, it was more of a conjuring than a song -- more a spell than a prayer. Her scent beckoned also, as it was her time, but she sung for those whom the wind did not reach. Due to the weather, it was darker this night than the first, meaning she would have to explore any potentials with little sight at her command.

This was night two of three; she would assess those who came near, if any, and on the fourth night she would choose the father of her children.

she was what roused him; a high voice caressing his sleeping mind in passing, pulling him gently into consciousness so that he woke with a smile, raindrops dappling the ground just outside his stone dugout.

the nightingale was in no hurry. he stretched and yawned and went the way of his midnight siren, as a man with no obligations does.

yet, as he neared, a scent mixed with rain to make a pungent perfume overtook him, and the nightingale happily hastened his pace!

hiello! he barked with a grin when her shape was solid through the veil of night and weather, he himself odorous from the way wetness accentuated the myriad different aromas latched onto and under his corded coat.