Pressed myself flat on my stomach. My chest heaved. I breathed through my mouth, struggling to keep perfectly still, perfectly silent. Did they see me? Did they? I raised my head enough to peer out at them beneath the bottom branch of the bush. They had their fur-covered snouts raised. They sniffed the air. Did they smell me? Did they know I was hiding down here? Were they about to leap into the bush and rip me apart with those long, silvery claws? I held my breath, squinting across the grass at them. They sniffed some more, grunting softly. Then they turned away. Dropped to all fours. And loped off, heading to the woods. I waited until I could no longer hear the soft thud of their paws or their low growls and grunts. Then I slid forward on my stomach, reached out, and grabbed my camera. My camera! I hadn’t snapped any photos. Not a single shot. I climbed shakily to my feet and rubbed the wet dew from the lens. Then I raised my eyes to the woods. I have to follow them, I decided. I have to take some photos.
