Dynamite lifted his head momentarily to observe the sunset, squinting his eyes with a displeased grumble on his lips. Long shadows stretched onto carmine claws, dappling his fur in the flickering light of the dying sun.

He was sopping wet, and while it was warm now, the setting sun would chill him halfway to hypothermia. Even catching a cold was extremely dangerous, and while they couldn’t afford another unexpected illness, he hadn’t eaten all day and refused to touch any of the old bodies because they tasted like her filthy, disgusting carrion. So now he was kneedeep in river water. Grainy gravel bit into his knees, but honestly he’d prefer sitting in muck trying his hardest to be a predator than sitting back in the house with a thick atmosphere having to tiptoe around his best friend.