Lost Creek Hollow sweet mornin's

The faint rustle of movement drew Cole’s attention, his ears twitching forward as he approached the source of the sound with deliberate care. The wind carried a faint, unfamiliar scent—young, female, and alone. His amber gaze softened slightly as he caught sight of her through the brush: a small, lone pup with a demeanor that spoke of weariness and longing.

He cleared his throat softly to announce his presence, not wanting to startle her. Mornin’, miss, he drawled, his voice warm but measured. You lookin’ for someone?

He stepped closer, keeping his movements slow and nonthreatening. His tail swayed once, low and neutral, as his gaze remained steady but kind. This ain’t the safest place to be wanderin’ alone. Where’s your folks?