Despite the slow pace, his mind raced. He imagined Milo safely on his way to find help, and part of him longed to be with the dog, fleeing the forest’s deeper recesses. But with every limping step the moose took, Wade’s empathy swelled.
He kept picturing its trembling flank, the wound that glistened with fresh blood. He wondered if he was simply projecting his own desperation—his fear for Milo, for himself—onto this wild creature.