The dog tensed, a tremor running through its body. Its eyes snapped to his hand, a warning flicker, don’t. Owen froze, pulse climbing. He whispered, “Easy, I’m not trying to hurt you.” But curiosity clawed harder than caution. He brushed the mud again, this time feeling a small ridge or corner, something wedged tightly beneath the animal’s chest.
It didn’t feel like the slope itself. It was separate. Man-made maybe too smooth, too even. “What are you lying on, huh?” he muttered under his breath. He couldn’t see much; the dog’s weight and the dim evening light blocked everything. But the more he probed, the clearer it became there was something trapped under there with it.