“Go, boy,” Wade whispered, stroking the dog’s ears. “Find the ranger station. Bring help.” Though Milo whined in protest, Wade motioned firmly for him to leave. Torn, Milo finally obeyed, sprinting back the way they’d come, the faint jingle of his leash fading into the depths of the forest.
Now alone, Wade forced himself to look again at the moose. Its breathing hitched, sides heaving with obvious pain. Gently, he spoke, voice cracking, “I’ll help if I can.” The moose blinked, almost as if understanding. Then, with labored steps, it turned and limped deeper into the trees.