Calling (the Horn)

Two calls that answered one another, as easy as confidences exchanged at a father's knee. We sounded on a hunt across the plain, as the hare burst from the long grass; we rang at some great tournament arranged to fit an heir for battle. As a boy, newly made a man, carolled his exuberance from the towers of the city, a quiet counterpoint welcomed his joy.

This note is emptied, now; a broken reed discarded in the waters. Yet the other answers still. It calls and calls. It will not let this echo fade until we hunt once more together.

(In response to a challenge at the lotr100 LiveJournal community - to write as an object of Middle-earth.)