We stayed with the calf.
A loose guide line helped us keep him from stumbling back toward the broken bank while we moved him onto safer ground. He resisted at first, turning and pulling with sudden bursts of frightened energy.
We gave him space whenever we could.
He had spent hours trapped. Every strange thing near him was another reason to panic.
Eventually, he stopped pulling.
I stood several feet away, hands lowered.
He watched me.
I couldn’t tell whether he was beginning to tolerate us or was simply too tired to object. I only knew his breathing had slowed and his legs no longer shook as violently.
The afternoon light stretched across the grass.
From the radio came brief updates: tracks, a sighting, a change in direction.
Nothing certain enough yet.
The calf kept listening.
A bird called, and his head lifted.
The radio crackled, and he turned.
