What Do You Think of This "Micro-Scene" From My Book?
(for context, I LOVE condesing my work to its simplest form.)
Morning. Gideon wakes to an empty camp and a furrow leading into the woods. He follows it.
SNIFF. His snout to the leaf-strewn floor, Gideon cannot miss the reek of herbal teas—Jericho was here.
Footsteps. Gideon paws at the hilt of his sword.
A paw on his shoulder. He tightens his grip.
Then, a warm but firm, “I didn’t want to wake you.”
He loosens his grip, breath shaky. “Thanks, Naomi.”
She looks at their friend’s wake and sees half a pair of pawprints.
“You don’t think—” “I do. He’s been taken.”