Raymond wasted no time. He sprinted across the yard, dropped to his knees at the hollow, and began brushing snow away with both hands. The crust was packed and hard, but not deep. Then his fingers found it. A patch of wet fur.
A small, curled body. Trembling. Still alive. He wrapped it in his scarf, cradled it against his chest, and carried it into the shed. The pig watched him, eyes half-lidded but tracking his every movement. He laid the bundle beside her.