The greyhound and the wind know each other well.
They speak the same. Roaring at the start of the chase, in the fury of the storm, and calming to a whine and a whisper.
The wind brings rumors to his long nose. It tousles his fur, tickles ears so they twitch and twist and it plays, throwing leaves to catch.
The wind pushes him, slows him when the race is done and carries him home from a tumble.
In return, the greyhound gives body to the wind. So that man may know what it looks like in flesh and bone.
Story #39 was pulled out of Drabble #2 by the request of the writer.