They moved fast. Clara pulled a towel from the van, an old seat cover, and together they lifted the tiny thing out, careful not to press too hard. Mud sloughed off in thick clumps, revealing only patches of slick, trembling fur. Its eyes were sealed shut beneath the grime. “Poor thing,” Clara whispered. “How could it survive under all that?”
The dog, freed now from the weight, collapsed beside them, panting weakly. Its chest rose and fell with visible effort. Owen glanced between it and the small, shaking bundle in his hands. “We need to get both of them to the vet,” he said. “Now.”