Whistling the Wind

It is late and I whistle for the Hunter to come back in for bed. He ignores me the first time I call, snuffling after some scent. But the wind answered. A zephyr moved up from the fence where the Hunter was still conducting his investigations. The wind came around the shrubbery, crossed in front of me then came up the trees on the right. It ruffled my hair and fell still. I shivered, deep and strong, touched by something elemental. The breeze died at my feet, but I had no treat to give it.

I wonder what it wanted?

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