Ducking behind a large snow mound, he held his breath. The cub pressed into his side, quivering. Bootsteps crunched dangerously close. He closed his eyes, barely daring to inhale. Then the radio crackled to life, a voice emerging faintly through the static.
His heart pounded like a war drum. Torn between staying silent to avoid detection and relaying their location, he chose courage. “This is Nolan,” he whispered hoarsely. “There are poachers… coordinates roughly… near the big ice ridge.” He spat out directions as best he could.