Peter reached into his backpack, pulling out a pair of scissors. “Hold the light steady,” he murmured, his voice low but firm. Julie complied, her flashlight’s beam fixed on the mess of plastic and netting. He began to cut, each snip echoing in the stillness.
The tangled material seemed endless, clinging stubbornly to the creature’s fur and limbs. As Peter worked, he muttered to himself, his tone a mixture of frustration and concern. “This is bad. It’s wrapped so tightly—no wonder it couldn’t get free.”