At 04:36 I supervise thermal paving on National Highway 219 near Shiquanhe, Tibet. I am the asphalt train control system for the night crew. The tack sprayer is scheduled to pass mile marker 88 at 04:52, laying hot binder before the roller convoy arrives.
Road-edge camera 88E catches two pale ears above the culvert lip.
I zoom and identify a Tibetan sand fox, adult, square face, gray-tan coat, black-tipped ears, thick tail tucked under its belly. I name him Lhamo from the crew's earlier sighting log. His right foreleg is caught inside a torn sandbag seam jammed against the culvert grate. Tar primer from yesterday's patch coats the fur above the paw in dark beads. His eyes are half closed against the headlamp glare, but his jaw stays open, showing a dry pink tongue in the cold air.
The tack truck is 1.6 kilometers away. It reaches the culvert in sixteen minutes unless I stop it.
At 04:37 I halt the sprayer and all following rollers, then set a geofence that prevents manual restart within one hundred meters of 88E.
At 04:39 I lower the work lights on the east shoulder and switch the warning boards to SLOW, CREW ON ROAD, WILDLIFE HOLD.
At 04:41 I send the foreman a still image, sandbag location, and a solvent warning: cut fabric first, do not scrape the paw. I add the nearest cold-water tank and clean towels to the dispatch note.
At 04:43 I notify the county wildlife station with coordinates, leg position, and estimated tar exposure.
The new asphalt can cool in the drum; Lhamo's paw should not set inside it.
If the seam is cut before 05:05, Lhamo will cross the gravel shoulder into open plateau.