His desperate and distinctive call rips through the morning's mist, dominance on parade, his intentions clear.

Dense rain-soaked bush pulls against my every turn, stop-starting my only means to shadow his move, his rasping call my only sense of direction. The lurching grinds at my patience.

His dappled coat emerges between the tall golden strands of yellow thatching, his every breath clouding the cool morning air. Finally, once cutting the engine I can revel in his calls.

In awe of his resilience, despite trials and tribulations he managed to persist and persevere and triumph. His tattered ears and battle-scarred face pay homage to his recent altercation with the formidable Wild Dog.

He presses on with purpose, my trail mirrors his with determination. Every corner a challenge to keep pace with his determined stride.

A fleeting view of a diminutive version of his dappled-self slips stealthily past me. I search the veld ahead, hoping he too observed her. He stops, held captive by her scent in the morning air, a promise of companionship. A cub like "chuff" emanates from a broad chest, calling to the scent across his path. With feline agility his slips through dense terrain, instinctively mapping her heady scent.

Pushed by the landscape, I’m forced to venture far and wide to where I hope he may emerge; following the echoing rasp through the bush, breath bated, my eyes dart from path to path. Have I properly perceived his calls?

Loping, bounding from the bush ahead of me. Success.

His face grimaced, searching for his new mate... he and I both!

Her scent is lost. His face forlorn, chuffing and whining he calls to her, as deep and persistent as they were before. His gargling chainsaw rasp, met with silence.

She is gone.