Ankyra Sound working hard or hardly working

Just then, a sprightly breeze whipped through the trees. It zigzagged like a living thing, foraging for scents in the bumpy bark of trees and behind green ferns, touching leaf litter and grass shoots with invisible fingertips. It swept over the pup's downy head like a petting hand. It smeared across Sam's nose – just as he inhaled deeply in preparation for a sigh.

The smell of baby stopped him from letting the air go. The smell of the baby. He sucked in more air, feeling the muscles of his chest stretch, double and triple checking that yes, this was the forest-and-sand smell of Marina's footprints.

Slowly, carefully, Sam turned his head. A pair of impossibly huge amber eyes stared at him from a gurning face that matched the forest floor in color - reds, browns, a splash of grey. It was so little.

"Where's momma, baby?" Sam half-whispered, lowering his head to puppy height. Fate was doing him one hell of a favor.