The smaller bear stayed rooted, ears twitching. This is it, Evelyn thought. They’ve brought me out here to die. She didn’t move. Couldn’t move. Her chest tightened, her pulse hammering against her ribs. Then the larger bear turned its head sharply to the left, nose low, sniffing the air. The tension in its posture changed. Focused. Intent.
Evelyn followed its gaze. She stepped forward, cautiously scanning the ground. At first, she saw nothing—just thick brush and knotted roots. But then, caught in a branch just ahead, was a torn piece of fabric. Faded blue, like denim. Just beyond it, a shoe—mud-caked and oddly positioned, as though discarded or lost in a hurry.