As they drew closer, the dog lifted its head and growled again; a low, steady warning. The sound made the air feel tighter somehow. Tom stopped in his tracks. “Whoa,” he murmured. “He’s not happy.”
“He’s scared,” Owen said. “Or hurt.” Clara stepped forward despite her husband’s hesitation, voice soft but certain. “Dogs don’t hold still like that unless something’s really wrong.” She crouched beside Owen, careful to keep her distance. “Poor thing probably can’t move. Maybe its leg’s caught.”