“Easy,” Clara murmured, kneeling opposite him. “If it’s caught on something sharp, we don’t want to hurt it.” Owen gritted his teeth. “I know.” The mud resisted, heavy and reluctant. “Feels like the soil’s gripping whatever’s down there.”
“Maybe it’s barbed wire,” Tom offered, crouching beside them. “Could’ve washed down from the fence line up the hill.” The idea made Owen’s stomach twist. The thought of the animal lying there all this time, held fast by some rusted strand, it made his hands work faster, even as he tried to stay careful.