Something about it… didn’t feel natural. Raymond inched forward, squinting through the thick curtain of snow. The lump by the fence was still half-buried, motionless but somehow… present. Not just an object, but something with weight, with heat.
The closer he came, the more he could make out: a ridge of bristled fur, patches of pale skin beneath, the barest rise and fall of breath. His boots crunched into a fresh drift, and suddenly, the mound twitched. Raymond stopped dead.