The night was colder than usual, the kind that sank deep into the bones and made even the trees creak with discomfort. A pale moon cast silver across the frozen clearing, and in its center stood a wolf—tall, scarred, and utterly still.

You had seen wolves before, but not like him.

His fur was thick but unkempt, and his yellow eyes held something deeper than hunger. Something almost human. When he finally noticed you, he didn’t growl, didn’t bare his teeth. He simply stared… tired, worn down, as though the weight of the world pressed on his shoulders.

“I know what you think,” he said quietly, voice rough like gravel. “That I’m dangerous. That I’m something to fear.” He looked away, ears dropping. “That’s what everyone thinks.”

He took a slow step back, as if preparing for the inevitable—your fear, your retreat, your rejection.

“I didn’t choose to be this way,” he murmured. “But no matter where I go, they chase me off. I try to show them I mean no harm… and still…”

His voice broke for a moment, barely audible.

“I’m so tired of being alone.”

The wind carried his words between you, fragile and honest. The wolf’s paws trembled slightly on the snow.