the prompt was 'shrill', from 10/4
Flash of Embers
The shrill cries cut through the night, and Jack shifted restlessly on the seat of the pickup. Something was hunting.
He'd stayed by the fading fire for hours after Ennis left, telling himself he'd go too, soon as the last flash of embers disappeared, and the wavering gray ashes settled. Then he'd douse them with a few buckets of water from the creek, make sure all the heat was gone, get in his truck and go back to Texas. Not home. He still tried to imagine that one of those times, while he waited, he'd catch a glimpse of something bright, the lowering sun reflecting off the mirror or windshield of Ennis' truck coming back, carrying hope, carrying Ennis home, to him. Hadn't happened. Couldn't admit that he believed it never would.
Jack pulled off the road once he was out of Colorado and the oncoming headlights had started blurring and doubling. He turned off the engine, rolled up his extra jacket and wedged it between his shoulder and the door, leaned against the part-way open window, leaned into the cold of the glass and the night air sliding in over it. The cries came again, and then another, abruptly cut off. Something was dying.