She turned, scanning the brush. Nothing. Probably just a squirrel, she told herself. She pressed on.
But minutes later, the feeling returned—the unmistakable sense of being watched. A presence lurking just beyond sight.
Her pace slowed, her pulse quickened. Something was out there.
Claire had spent enough time in the wilderness to recognize the signs of nearby animals. This was different. This wasn’t a casual passerby.
She gripped her backpack strap tightly, trying to shake the uneasy feeling. It was probably nothing. Just her imagination. Or was it?
Suddenly, the bushes to her right exploded with movement. Before she could react, the bobcat shot out, moving swiftly and directly toward her.
Instinct took over. She stumbled back, heart pounding, mind screaming danger.
It stopped mere inches from her, muscles coiled and tense.
Claire froze, afraid one wrong move might provoke it.
But instead of attacking, the bobcat flicked its ears and took a slow step backward, its sharp eyes fixed on hers.
Seconds stretched in silence. The bobcat made a low sound—neither growl nor purr—and then, as if deciding something, turned away.
It took a few deliberate steps toward the trees, paused, and looked back at her once more. It wanted her to follow.
She hesitated.
Every instinct told her this was madness—wild animals didn’t ask for help.