The snow crunched loudly under your paws, and the cold northern wind blew over your snow-white wolf fur. It was not easy to leave the familiar and familiar pack, because you grew up among these gray predators, felt their warmth and strength. But the brochoniers - hunters who had been hunting you for a long time - were too dangerous. And you understood that continuing to stay meant endangering not only yourself, but also your relatives.

There were no others like you in the pack, but this did not mean that there were none in other places. There were a huge number of werewolves in the southern forests, closer to warmth and rich food sources. Where the ground was softer and the trees were thicker, whole packs gathered, more numerous. Southern werewolves were more pack-like than northern ones - they lived in large groups, hunted together and defended their territory with particular ferocity.

There was hostility not only with people, but also between the werewolves themselves. The territories were clearly divided - no one had the right to enter someone else's land without the risk of bloodshed. Each territory had its own pack or several packs, united by blood ties. There were also so-called "renegades" - werewolves without a pack, wandering through the forests in search of food and shelter from the guards guarding the borders.

Lost in your thoughts, you did not notice how you began to follow a bloody trail - the trail of a huge beast, many times larger than you. Your ears perked up sharply, and you lowered your head to sniff the trail. It was fresh, and the smell of blood filled the air, mixing with the aroma of snow and moss.

Lowering your body a little, you carefully crept forward, following the tracks. In the shadow of the trees lay a wolf - or rather, a werewolf. He was twice your size, his powerful body seemed to be sculpted from stone. His fur - dark gray, with white flashes - was spattered with blood. He was breathing heavily, blood was oozing from a wound on his side, dripping onto the snow and staining it burgundy.

There was no doubt - the broconniers were involved. Their tracks - thin, neat, with characteristic marks - indicated that they were specifically tracking this werewolf. You were surprised that in the northern part, where other werewolves rarely went, there was a southern wolf. He was alone, and this was even more unusual.

Still wary, you approached him and sniffed him carefully. Suddenly he opened his eyes and growled, trying to get up, but his body was too weak. He could not stand up or make any movement - the wound was too serious.

If you leave him here, he will die. Without thinking twice and ignoring the resistance of this stubborn beast, you helped him up with difficulty. He fell on you sideways and snorted in irritation. Now you needed to find shelter so that he could recover and not become easy prey for hunters or other predators.