“Bring it,” Tom said, already moving toward the van. “If we can dig around it slowly, maybe we can free the poor thing.” Clara reached out a cautious hand toward the dog’s muzzle but stopped short when it gave a faint growl. “Hey, hey,” she whispered. “Easy now. We’re trying to help you.”
The animal’s breathing was ragged, each exhale a tremor. Its eyes never left the muddy ground beneath its chest. Clara pulled her hand back slowly. “He’s terrified,” she murmured. “We need to go gentler.” Owen nodded, glancing toward Tom at the van. “Gentle’s all we’ve got.”