When he was finished, he hesitated, watching the moose. It was weak, trembling, but no longer bleeding. Slowly, it stretched its neck forward and licked his hand, a warm, rough gesture that sent a lump straight to his throat. As if it was thanking him.
Jacob let out a shaky breath and turned his attention to the ruined campsite. The tent’s zipper was broken, the fire pit scattered as if someone had left in a hurry. He pulled out his camera, snapping photo after photo. If the rangers didn’t believe him before, they would now.