Pog

It was night when Pog heard weeping in the forest.
He’d been patrolling for an hour, and the only sounds had been the occasional cries of foxes, or the low hooting of owls.
Pog sniffed the air. There was a scent. Human scent.
Pog followed the smell. He skipped over tree roots, his eyes finely attuned to the night, his furry ears twitching as he got closer to the sound. It was coming from the trees encircling the dark forbidden heart of the forest. Pog’s hackles immediately stood on end. He paced back and forth fretfully, listening to the weeping before plunging into the undergrowth. Pog peeked out from behind a bush and into the circular clearing which was dotted with stunted tree trunks. There was a human child sitting on one of the old stumps. A girl with dark curly hair. She was sobbing inconsolably into her hands. Pog recognized her instantly and nodded in understanding. He’d already seen her with the tall ones that very morning. They’d arrived at the house in their metal box on wheels.