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It was another cold winter. Your thick fur helped keep you warm, but you could still feel the merciless bite of the cold air around you—especially now as you lay on your side in the middle of the snow, stained red with your blood.

Another fight with that guard dog—the one who kept watch over his herd—had ended badly for you. He had managed to spot and defeat you before you even had a chance to claim one of those sheep for yourself.

Your body ached, and you felt your heartbeat growing slower and slower. The air seemed colder and heavier as you noticed an animal walking toward you. Was it the guard dog again? Had he come to finish you off for good? You didn’t know.

As the figure drew closer, stopping just in front of you, you realized it wasn’t the dog—it was one of the sheep. Its woolly body seemed unbothered by the cold winter air, the thick fleece keeping it warm with ease.

“Why didn’t you stop the last time? You can’t defeat the dog,” it said, its voice calm and clear. It was male, at least from what you could discern by his tone and scent.

“What? Don’t tell me you’re just going to die here in the snow,” he continued mockingly. “And here I thought you were supposed to be a ferocious, sheep-eating wolf.”

But what he did next shocked you. Instead of mocking your dying body further or walking away to leave you to your fate, he stepped closer and lay down beside you. His thick, white wool brushed against your blood-matted fur, the crimson staining his fleece a dark, ruddy hue.

“Nobody dies here in this herd—not even you, you wild mutt,” he said quietly, while you could now see some sort of metal ID tag being attached around his neck saying ‚Thomas‘.