You're creeping through the aspens. You've heard a few mews and you're sure the herd is just over the next ridge. You walk light on your feet. Careful not to snap a twig. Or let the brush rub hard against your gear. Then it happens:
He bugles. That soul piercing song of the wild.
The hair on your neck stands up. He's big. You just know it. He's farther than you thought he was. You know that you have to respond. To challenge him. To draw him in.