Maya’s boots slipped in the mud as she followed the dog past the swings and benches. She called out, but her voice was swallowed by the wind. The dog kept moving, nose low, tail stiff. At last, near the far end of the playground, Maya spotted a blue shape sprawled on the ground—a woman, unmoving, her white cane lying nearby.
Rushing over, Maya dropped to her knees, heart pounding. “Are you alright?” she called, shaking the woman’s shoulder gently. The woman groaned, dazed and shivering. “I fell. Hurt my hand. Lost my cane.” Maya quickly retrieved the cane and glasses, and helped her sit up as the dog nuzzled its owner, licking her face with relief.
With effort, Maya wrapped her arm around the injured woman—Ester—and guided her back across the street, the dog close at their heels. By the time they reached Maya’s house, all three were soaked through and shivering. Maya ushered them inside, locked the door against the storm, and hurried to fetch towels, dry clothes, and her propane heater.
She made hot tea, bandaged Ester’s injured arm, and set Juno, the dog, by the heater. As warmth seeped back into the room, Ester’s voice grew steadier. She explained how thunder had spooked Juno, who bolted and left her stranded. “He’s trained to get help,” Ester murmured, stroking the dog’s fur. “He must have found you.”