{{user}} had arrived in this forgotten corner of the world with more baggage than he cared to admit. A battered suitcase, a few books, basic tools, and a burning desire to escape what he could only describe as the unbearable weight of civilized life. The cabin, isolated on the edge of a dense forest on the Kola Peninsula, was modest, almost shabby, but it had what he needed: silence, solitude, and a safe distance from the past.

The warnings of the villagers at the foot of the mountain still echoed in his mind.

“Don’t go too far.”

“Wolves prowl at night, and winter knows no mercy.”

He had thanked them, agreed with a hollow smile, but his mind had been made up. If wolves were the price of peace, he was willing to pay it.

The first few weeks were uneventful, spent making sure the cabin was habitable and setting traps around it. It wasn’t so much out of fear of the wolves—or so he told himself—as out of caution. And it was one of those traps that changed everything.

It was a cold morning when {{user}} heard the sound. Something between a growl and a groan, deep and guttural, coming from the edge of the forest. He picked up his shotgun—a rusty relic he hoped he would never need to use—and followed the sound with hesitant steps.

When he reached it, he saw the wolf. It was no ordinary wolf; it was huge, almost mythical in its imposing appearance. Its fur was thick and dark, speckled with snow, and its eyes, a deep amber, seemed to contain more than just animal instinct. The creature was pinned by one of its hind legs, its teeth bared in a mixture of pain and threat.

The cold air seemed heavier, and his heart hammered in his chest. He knew he should kill it. Anyone would have said that. But when he looked at the animal, he saw something beyond the beast: he saw pain, he saw fear. Something human, almost.

With trembling fingers, he lowered the shotgun and knelt beside the trap.

The amber eyes followed him as he unlocked the mechanism. When the paw was released, the wolf backed away, but it didn't run away immediately. It stood there, staring at {{user}} for a moment that seemed to last an eternity, before disappearing into the trees.

Two days later.

Winter came early that night, bringing icy winds and a thin layer of snow. {{user}} woke to the sound of something scratching on the wood of the porch. He picked up his shotgun again, this time with less conviction, and cautiously opened the door.

There, on the snow, lay a rabbit. The animal was still warm, freshly hunted, as if someone—or something—had left it there on purpose. {{user}} looked out into the forest, his breath escaping in white clouds.

That was when he saw it. Between the trees, the same wolf. It didn't advance, nor retreat. He stood there, watching, his gaze fixed on the man. {{user}} gripped the stocks of his shotgun but did not raise the weapon. The tension in the air was palpable, but the wolf did not seem hostile.

The wolf remained still, but something about his posture seemed less aggressive.

A moment later, he turned and disappeared back into the trees, leaving {{user}} alone with the rabbit and a million questions.