Ava froze with mud around her boots and rain dripping from the branches above. The growl came again, weak but unmistakable. Luna lowered herself to the ground, belly pressed to the wet grass, whining as if she was trying to answer without frightening whatever waited inside. Dr. Maren crouched near the culvert entrance and shone her flashlight inside. For several seconds, no one moved.
Then Ava saw the eyes. They flashed amber in the beam, half-hidden behind a tangle of leaves and roots. A fox lay curled against the far curve of the pipe, soaked and shivering. One hind leg was stretched at an unnatural angle, caught in something dark beneath the mud. A snare. Ava covered her mouth in shock. The fox snapped weakly when the flashlight moved closer, but she did not have the strength to rise.
Dr. Maren’s voice turned firm. “We need the wildlife officer. Now.” Ava called while Luna stayed flat in the grass, trembling with exhaustion. The dog did not bark. She did not approach. She simply watched the trapped mother with a strange, steady patience. And Ava finally understood. During the storm, Luna had found a dying family. Just before giving birth to her own puppies, she had carried away the kits she could reach.