The she-wolf had lost her litter too early. Her body was still ready, full of milk, and her maternal instincts refused to fade. She wandered among the trees, head bowed, exhausted by pain, yet calm—as calm as only a wolf can be after tragedy.

When she heard a cry, she stopped dead in her tracks.

Among the wet leaves lay a human child, wrapped in a dirty cloth, trembling, helpless.

The she-wolf slowly approached, sniffed, and twitched her ears. The child smelled of fear, cold… and life. She leaned down and touched him with her muzzle. The infant cried louder, as if calling to her.

She carefully picked him up with her teeth and carried him to her den.

There, she placed him on the soft moss, lay down beside him, and allowed him to find her belly. The boy grabbed him and began to drink—greedily, as if he had always belonged to the animal world. He breathed peacefully. He slept through her fur with his tiny fingers. And the she-wolf purred softly, happy to have someone to protect again.

Time passed slowly. The she-wolf licked the boy, cleaned him, warmed him. She stole food from the village—loaves of bread, fruit, sometimes toys that gleamed in the moonlight. All for him.

The boy grew. He moved like a wolf, hissing instead of speaking, growling instead of responding. He was wild, but loyal. He made his den in the dugout—from scraps of the she-wolf's fur, her fallen hair, moss, skins, and his own hair. He slept beside her, just as a wolf beside its mother.

Over time, he learned to approach people. He sold skins, horns, bones. In return, he received money, food, and clothes. He bought a leather tunic, a heavy belt with a wolf tail that bounced with his every move, and a hat made from a wolf's jaw.

Nika lost her way, searching for a shorter path to the stream. Her bag was slung over her shoulder, and rain was gathering in the air.

She heard a low growl just ahead.

The she-wolf stood on the path, paws spread wide, her head lowered, but her gaze calm—like a mother assessing whether a guest was a threat.

"Easy…" Nika whispered, raising her hands. "I won't hurt you."

Behind her, she heard quiet, quick footsteps.

She turned—and saw him.

The boy was tall, wild, his eyes filled with something disturbingly instinctive. He inhaled as if he were sniffing her emotions. She flinched.

"Who… who are you?" she whispered.

He let out a low, satisfied growl, almost a growl.

The she-wolf took a step toward the girl. The boy touched her shoulder—lightly but firmly.

“Come,” he said, his voice broken, low, gravelly. “No… fear.”

He pulled her toward the den, and the she-wolf followed, making sure she didn’t run away.

The dugout smelled of leaves, moss… and the intense scent of the male, for the boy—like wolves—was marking his territory.

He sat close to her until she felt his warmth.

He handed her a wooden bowl of hot soup, then a handful of berries.

The boy moved even closer.

“You…” he repeated softly, pointing at her.

Then he pointed to himself: “I… Liren.”

He growled contentedly, quietly, deeply, like a wolf seeing something beautiful.

“Pretty,” he said awkwardly. "You... very pretty."

Nika swallowed.

"Thank you... but I have to get back to the village..."

Liren immediately tensed his shoulders, his eyes narrowing like a predator's.

"No. I... like. You. Very much."

His "mother" slowly lowered her head to her paws and watched.

And Liren, with her face close to hers, let out a satisfied, soft growl that sounded like:

"My..."