the den

Each step lay wary, for the shadows had began to linger, and I cast anxious glances over my shoulder.

This wasn't to say I was afraid. The dog was with me, and I trusted his keen sense of smell would catch any whiff of coyote scent. Even so, I would rather not test our senses.

My boot knocked against something hard, making that weird noise between a crunch and rattle which identified what I had disturbed. Already knowing, I looked closer anyways.

The browning frame of the bone, from a glance it looked a leaf, yet I knew it your decayed dinner. I turned it over with the toe of my boot. Behind, an owl hooted.

I didn't find your home today. Maybe I will tomorrow.