Little Tommy looked to the side; the snow had been falling from the sky for quite a while — about four months. In the distance, Little Tommy spotted Big Jack, their protector and sheepdog, who was walking strangely through the snow with his head down.

Little Tommy turned to his mother, the ewe, and said: “Look, Mama. where Big Jack going?”

His mother, a sheep named Cynthia, merely cast a tired glance at the sheepdog and turned to her little one, soothing him: “I think maybe he smell something'.”

But Little Tommy was not calmed and, with worry, continued to watch the silhouette of the sheepdog receding into the snow, whispering: “Is it a monster?”

Meanwhile, Big Jack continued to follow the trail, picking up a faint scent of a predator, which he detected thanks to a sudden gust of wind. The snow crunched under the paws of the Anatolian shepherd. He had been raised from birth by his master, the leader of the sheep tribe, who taught him to be their faithful protector against local predators. His master was a goat with a reliable rifle, from which no predator could escape. However, the old goat also needed to sleep, and during those moments, Big Jack took over. “Every sheep down there belongs to his master. Which means they’re protected by him." But why did Big Jack's stomach twist from this strange smell? Why did doubts suddenly creep into his mind?

After walking a bit further in the snow, Big Jack finally realized what the predator's scent was. Before him lay a lifeless body of a wolf, almost completely buried in snow. Only its head and one paw protruded above the snowy surface. The wolf's eyes glistened, but there was no life in them; it had died from the cold, not from hunger.

Behind Big Jack, there was a sound of crunching snow as several bolder sheep decided to approach the place where he had stopped. Young sheep Meli broke the silence: “What if it's a trick?”

Mitch, one of the older sheep, said stubbornly: “It could be fuckin'.”

Without wasting time, Big Jack dryly replied, emphasizing the last phrase: “Yeah. He's dead.”

Terry, one of the newly matured sheep, stepped closer to Big Jack and cautiously asked: “You kill it?”

Big Jack took a deep breath and replied: “No. The cold got 'em. I think he was ill.”

Terry noticed Big Jack's tone when he spoke about the wolf as if it were a person: “Well... good, either way.”

After Terry's words, Big Jack grew somber: “...Good?”

Terry, perplexed, looked at Big Jack: “Well, yeah. Whether you got 'em or the cold did don't really matter none. Eather way, it's one less wolf we gotta worry about snapping us up in the night.”

Cynthia stepped a bit closer and coldly said: “Vicious monster. I hope it's suffered.”

Mitch also stepped forward and said harshly: “Yep. That's just what it deserves.”

Big Jack fell silent for a moment before dryly asking: "'Vicious monster', huh? For wantin' to live?”

Terry was taken aback, not understanding the implication: “...What?”

Big Jack calmly turned and explained: “If they don't hunt, they don't eat. And if they don't eat, they die. So, are they vicious for wanting to live?”

Terry bristled at the sheepdog's gaze but collected himself and tried to appear casual: “Well, I guess they can't help but be vicious. Cruelty is in their nature. So, it's only fitting they die a cruel death, eh? Haha!”

These words made Big Jack frown even more: “Dogs are kin to wolves, you know. They ain't much different than me.”

Now it was Terry's turn to frown harder at the sheepdog's words: “Don't be ridiculous! You're nothing like them! Not at all!”

Big Jack noticed the confusion on Terry's face and calmly continued: “No? Far as I can tell the one real difference between them and I is I don't gotta hunt for my food. If my master didn't feed me, I'd have to kill to keep livin' too. Then maybe I'd be the one snapping you up in the night. If seein' this poor fella lay dead in the snow gives ANY a you some sense of pleasure, do me a favor... Keep it to yourself.”