The cry of welcome died on her lips, leaving them dry and parted.

A soft cry filtered through the night air, then died.

The cry died in her throat as she saw his face.

But his cry died away - the saddles were empty.

A cry of joy rose to her throat and died there.

Her second cry for help died away as she stared around her.

As the animal cry died in the night, there was only one other sound.

He tried to call out to her, but the cry died in his throat.

The hue and cry of the tabloids had died away.

The cry died, echoed in the silence that followed, then rose again, piercing and high.