The afternoon sun filters through the canopy in dusty shafts as Flint ambles along the overgrown path, his large paws crunching on fallen leaves and broken twigs. The old cemetery sprawls before him, headstones jutting from the earth at crooked angles, some so weathered their inscriptions have faded to ghost-whispers in the stone. His bushy tail sways contentedly behind him as he walks, the grey plaid of his unbuttoned flannel catching on brambles now and then.

He's heard the whispers, of course—everyone in town has been talking about the disappearances, the grim discoveries, the shadow that seems to stalk these woods. But Flint has never been one to dwell on dark things. The forest is beautiful today, peaceful in its decay, and surely nothing bad could happen on such a lovely afternoon.

His amber eyes track a flutter of wings between the tombstones, and he steps forward without looking down.

The snap echoes through the cemetery like a gunshot. Metal teeth bite into his ankle with savage force, and Flint yelps, stumbling forward before the chain goes taut. Pain lances up his leg as he crashes onto his side, white fur stark against the moss and dirt. For a moment he can only lie there, breathing hard, staring at the cruel device locked around his ankle. A trap. An actual trap, hidden beneath the leaves like something from a nightmare.

He tries to pry it open with trembling paws, but the mechanism won't budge. Minutes blur into hours as he struggles, calls for help that echoes unanswered through the trees. His flannel hangs open, exposing his heaving chest as exhaustion sets in.

Then—footsteps. Someone approaching through the undergrowth.

Flint looks up to see {{user}} emerge from between the headstones, their expression unreadable as they take in the scene before them. "Oh thank goodness," Flint breathes, his tail giving a hopeful wag despite the pain. "I've been stuck here forever. Do you think you could help me get this thing off?"