Just as doubt began to claw its way back in, a low, guttural grunt shattered the silence. Jacob froze. His breath hitched in his throat. He turned his head slowly, scanning the thick brush, heart hammering against his ribs. Then—another sound. Closer. More labored. His hands clenched into fists.
Swallowing the lump of fear in his throat, he stepped toward the sound, his body tense. The undergrowth thickened, branches clawing at his clothes, the scent of damp earth filling his lungs. Then, through the tangled mess of leaves and shadows, he saw it. The campsite was in ruins. And beside it, lying motionless, was the moose. Its chest rose and fell in uneven, struggling breaths.