Allan stepped out once again, his breath visible in the frosty air, he realized something was wrong. The deer wasn’t just huddled against the fence for warmth—it was tangled. Its delicate legs were caught between the wooden slats, the frantic struggle evident in the scratches and bent pickets. The fawn hadn’t moved for hours.
Kneeling cautiously, Allan examined the situation. The animal’s coat was slick with frost, its movements feeble, and its shallow breaths betrayed exhaustion. He guessed it had been fleeing—perhaps from a predator or a dog—and had trapped itself in a blind panic. The sight was both pitiful and haunting.