Inside, the calf refused to settle. Even as the heat warmed its body, it kept pacing toward the door, nudging it with its nose. It let out soft, urgent cries.
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Something wasn’t right. The farmer slipped on his boots and coat, grabbed a flashlight, and followed the calf’s tracks through the snow. The sky was still grey. Wind picked up behind the hills.
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About fifty yards out, the tracks split. And that’s when he saw the broken fencing and another set of deeper impressions in the snow heading toward the tree line.