He couldn’t shake the prickling sensation that they were not alone, that the whispering leaves concealed more than the usual woodland critters. Milo’s behavior fed that worry. The dog typically trotted ahead with cheerful purpose, sniffing at logs and pausing for a reassuring pat before bounding off again.
But this evening, his ears were perpetually alert, swiveling at the slightest crack or rustle. His nose swept lower to the ground, and his trot became a restless prowl. Wade tried to dismiss it—perhaps they’d just startled a raccoon or crossed paths with a skunk.