through the stormy air. Marcus lunged, fingers grasping at fur, but his hands closed only on empty rain-soaked fabric. Rage and panic collided in his chest. “Luna!” he shouted, voice hoarse and raw, his legs propelling him forward through the muck.
The criminal staggered under the mud’s uneven footing, clutching Luna tightly. Marcus seized the moment, diving low and sweeping his shoulder into the man’s knees. The impact sent both crashing into a shallow pool, mud splashing around them. Luna yipped and wriggled in Marcus’s arms as he rolled to his feet, keeping her close, heart hammering.
Thunder cracked overhead, masking the chaos. The remaining criminals hesitated, stunned by Marcus’s sudden boldness. Using the momentary pause, he darted toward the narrow footpath leading to the canoe, Luna pressed against him like a small, trembling bundle of determination. Rocks and splintered branches whizzed past, but Marcus didn’t falter—every step was a frantic promise: he would not lose her.
Reaching the cypress-trunked canoe, Marcus yanked it free from its mooring. Luna squirmed but didn’t resist, sensing safety in his arms. He dropped the paddle, balanced himself against the shaking canoe, and shoved off into the dark, rain-slicked water. The criminals’ shouts faded behind him, swallowed by wind and storm, leaving only the rhythmic splash of paddle against swamp water.
Marcus exhaled, lungs burning, muscles trembling. He glanced down at Luna’s wide, fearful eyes, now calming as she nuzzled against his chest. The peril wasn’t entirely over, but for the first time since the raccoon ambush, he felt a flicker of hope: together, they were moving toward safety, away from the chaos, into the dark embrace of the Fenwood Wetlands.