Understanding the gravity of the moment, the farmer quickly donned his boots and coat, grabbed a flashlight from the shelf, and stepped back out into the grey morning. The wind had begun to pick up, swirling snowflakes along the edges of the field as he followed the calf’s fresh tracks through the snow.
The footprints led away from the house, heading toward the fields and then the edge of the woods where tall trees stood like silent sentinels against the sky. About fifty yards out, the trail forked. One set of prints led toward a section of broken fencing, where the snow was disturbed, and another set of deeper, heavier impressions continued toward the dense tree line.