Caleb walked with slow precision, eyes scanning the ground and undergrowth. Lisa followed close behind, her boots crunching twigs. “What exactly are we looking for?” “Signs,” he murmured. “Broken branches. Fur. Droppings. Blood, if we’re unlucky. It’ll leave a trail, we just have to read it.”
They walked in silence for several minutes. Then Caleb pointed. “There.” A half-smeared pawprint in the soil. Not fresh, but not yet softened by weather. The pads were distinct. The toes spread in a wide arc.