As the dog’s leg slipped free, Maya lost her footing. Her heel sank into the soft ground, and before she could catch herself, she tumbled backward with a muffled grunt. Her poncho hit the mud with a slap. She lay there for a moment, winded, rain spattering across her face.
She scrambled upright, gripping the fence with one glove, heart hammering. Her knees throbbed from the fall, but she forced herself up, casting a wary glance toward the dog. Was it going to lunge? Bite? But it just stood there—still, silent—watching her.
Its gaze wasn’t hostile. In fact, it seemed… calm. Something had shifted. Its body was looser, less coiled. The wild panic she’d seen earlier was gone. Maya’s chest tightened, unsure if it was from relief or disbelief. She had expected it to run. But it didn’t.
Then the dog barked—sharp and sudden. Maya flinched, instinctively stepping back. Her heart leapt again. Had she misread it? Was it warning her now? But the dog caught her hesitation. It paused, blinked, then lowered its head in a slow, almost careful gesture. Like it understood.