“Cardboard,” Owen muttered, running his hand along the edge. “Soggy on the bottom, but the top’s almost dry.” The dog whimpered faintly, finally shifting its weight enough for them to slide the box free. The mud suctioned around it, reluctant to let go, then released with a quiet slurp.
Owen pulled it closer, setting it on the firmer patch of ground near the ditch. The box sagged slightly, sides dark with moisture. “What on earth…” Clara began, but the sentence trailed off as another tiny noise came from inside. It wasn’t the dog. It wasn’t even close.