That’s when he saw it—a flicker of movement beneath the pig’s belly. A small quiver in the snow, as if something hidden underneath had stirred. Something alive. The pig shifted slightly, curling tighter around the form beneath it.
For a second, Raymond glimpsed a smear of fur. Not the pig’s. Something else. Smaller. It was guarding it. He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Whatever that creature was, the pig had kept it warm—shielded it with the last of its strength. It wasn’t just surviving.