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A breath.
Another sound, as though one of the ancient freight trains on their rusted tracks had awoken and decided to burp. Or fart. Or otherwise release fleshborne gasses. While beating beaten against the hood of a larger vehicle.
The native birds of the plain had long since departed, the spasmodic, guttural roars driving all of the wildlife off of Shylome's path as she dragged a walrus across the ground. There's no sound quite like a dying walrus. The sound kept her ears pressed flat against the side of her head.
Her victim once had two tusks. These had been bitten off at the root in the course of its surprise assault and capture. Its right, front flipper had come off too. Shylome hardly remembered how or why, but that's how hunts were most of the time. Wounds on its belly also leaked that delicious red blood that tempted her to go for its throat instead of dragging its blubbery self by its back fin across the rain-slick dirt and grass at considerable cost to her energy reserves.
But this creature had to live. She had a special purpose in mind for it this night.
The moon lit her path well enough, though the darkness of the night might have concealed her presence were it not for her sobbing luggage.
So it won't really be a surprise, the African thought with a bit of sadness as she drew up next to her lover's home, trying to laugh out a message at the entryway as the beast groaned on in the background.
"Bokkie!" BUUUUUURUGHHH "I have a surprise for you!"
Bokkie: Term of endearment comparable to "honey" or "sweetheart"