It crept toward her—not fast, not aggressive. Then it stopped, inches away, and gently tugged at the bottom edge of her poncho. Maya blinked, confused. The dog let go, turned toward the street, and barked again—twice this time. Urgent. Focused. Then it looked back at her.
She frowned. “Go on,” she said softly. “Go home, it’s over.” She opened the garden gate with one gloved hand, gesturing toward the sidewalk. “Shoo.” But the dog didn’t move. Instead, it stepped back to her, tugged again at her coat, and barked into the storm.