Hank stepped inside the barn. The animals were silent, huddled in corners, trembling. His light swept the rafters, the walls, the straw-covered floor.
That’s when he saw it, in the far stall.
The wolf. Curled up… around something. No growl. No aggression. It backed away slowly, revealing a figure on the ground, small, pale, shaking.
A girl. Maybe seven years old. Dressed in rags. Mute. Covered in scratches. Barefoot in winter. She stared at Hank, eyes wide with fear.