He dropped from the branch, called, winged downriver, his image doubled in the water. He heard the call again, closer now. If she returned, he'd dive into the river, greet her with a fish, fly around her, feed her beak to beak... He pumped his wings harder now. He heard the cackle closer, louder, more insistent. He recognized her voice. She was hurling her way upriver.

Any moment now: she'd fly into his vision.

-from Birds in Fall by Brad Kessler