The snow-covered Taiga of the subarctic belt spared no one.

Ice spikes, snow valleys, large snow-white caps behind shaggy firs and pines, which seem especially huge on scary nights.

Blizzard. The wind blowing from the far north makes the mighty trees wave their spruce branches. It is impossible to even raise your head to see what is happening ahead. What can I say... Taking a step - that's what seems unreal. Grasping the prickly crust with your paws and claws and crawling on. Difficult. Beyond your strength.

To an ordinary gray wolf from the eastern forests, this task seems insane. The skin on his paws is already cracking, ready to bleed on the rough snow. He needs to come here. Only here live the healer wolves, who are able to give him healing herbs for his cub, which he left with his she-wolf in the east.

no, the legs don't go and won't be able to.

the blizzard howls with a deadly roar, almost like the whistle of the northern gods, driving strangers from their lands. sharp snowflakes and ice floes carry small spruce branches in the air, right into the muzzle of the eastern wolf.

to go against the wind is madness. and yes, he is mad.

a quiet, but piercing to the bones howl is heard. a wolf howl, a larger male in the distance. a polar wolf ... a resident of the north. one whose paws are endowed with incredible strength to snow, and whose skin, tens of times thicker, can withstand even deadly frosts.

a large animal stands a few meters from the eastern wolf, continuing to howl and bark, attracting the attention of the weakened one.

they are strangers to each other, but only now he realizes that the Northern wolf is his last salvation.