At the base of the great tree, Pedro searched frantically—under bushes, between tangled roots, every patch of grass. “Lola,” he called softly, barely breathing. Nothing but the whisper of wind and the rattle of branches. His heart sank. “Lola!” he called again, louder, voice trembling.
A faint bark answered him, barely audible, but enough to make his heart race. “Lola!” he shouted again, hope rising like a flood as he turned toward the sound. Another bark, louder and clearer, led him forward. He crashed through the undergrowth, calling her name as if it was a lifeline.