2

"Fucking rogues!" Noemi spat, her anger flaring even more as she slammed the sack she was carrying onto the table. The sack was soaked in blood.

"What the—"

She couldn't finish her sentence; her eyes widened at the sight before her. Instead of the sheep she had expected to find, there lay a pitiful werewolf pup. She gently prodded it with a silver knife, but it didn't move. Her heart ached as she stared at a deep, gaping wound on its chest. Its legs were broken, and a massive gash across its face had all almost blinded it.

"You poor thing," she murmured.

Realizing the creature was no longer breathing, she shook her head and covered it back up with the sack.

"F*cking rogues! What is this? They mistook you for one of my sheep?" She took a deep breath and glanced at her closed door. Although she harbored anger toward werewolves, she wasn't heartless. This pup had done nothing to her; in fact, she felt pity for it.

What had this little creature done to deserve such treatment?

"I'll give you a proper funeral," she said, taking another deep breath.

She went to the back of the house and dug a hole knee-deep. She placed some flowers inside before carefully filling the hole back up with soil. She froze when she heard growls nearby. From her backyard, she could clearly see the werewolves in the forest. They were glancing toward her as they made their way up the mountain. Her fence was made of silver, so no one would dare to enter her property by mistake.

"He’s definitely dead. There’s no way he could have survived a blow like that."

"For sure."

"Let's go."

"Let's get ourselves promoted," the latter said, before taking off in a flash.

If she wasn't mistaken, these were the two werewolves—Galvar and Claudio—whom the other werewolves feared.

"Get yourselves promoted?" Noemi asked herself, her brow furrowed as she stared at the wolf pup she had buried.

She nearly screamed when the soil covering the pup’s body shifted, revealing eyes turned crimson with blood. With the moonlight bright tonight—complemented by the light from her backyard—she could clearly see the color of its eyes. They were silver, glowing faintly under the combined light of the moon and the artificial illumination.

"Hel...p me..." the wolf pup whispered, barely moving.

"Dear God. You're alive." She exclaimed, quickly scanning her surroundings before gently picking the creature up and cradling it against her chest.

She laid it down on a table, having first spread a large, clean cloth over the surface. She brushed off its fur-covered body and face. Judging by the tufts of hair atop its head, she surmised that this 'werewolf'—or wolf-like being—had a thick mane.

She winced as her hands became stained with blood while brushing off its body. She was at a loss for what to do; it was clear that its entire body was covered in wounds.

"God... what did you do to make you suffer like this? You’re still just a... baby."

"Wait—don't move. I need to clean you up so I can see all your wounds."

Moving quickly, she boiled some water, infusing it with medicinal herbs and leaves. Before it reached a full boil, she scooped some into a basin. Grabbing a clean washcloth, she tested the temperature to ensure it wouldn't be too hot, then gently began to bathe the little creature. It let out a soft whimper, squeezing its eyes shut—likely due to the intense pain radiating from its many wounds.

"Bear with it. I’m going to clean you up first, then I’ll tend to all your wounds." Her movements were deliberate and gentle; she winced, as if feeling the pain herself, at the sight of the blood still seeping from the creature's chest.

Every now and then, she would check the creature’s chest and nose to see if it was still breathing, as it remained completely motionless—even when she touched its legs, which were almost entirely broken. She moved quickly, searching for medical supplies in a cabinet he had just opened. She hadn’t opened this cabinet in years, and the sight of it brought memories of her parents flooding back. She let out a deep, bitter sigh. She remembered her parents, who had lost their lives because of werewolves. Since their barn was located right near the forest, many werewolves would often end up at their home. Some would arrive wounded, seeking help, while others would simply show up looking for trouble.

Tragically, one night, an intruder broke in—someone she recalled her parents had previously helped and treated. They had expected gratitude, but instead, the intruder had come only to take her parents' lives. That was the root of her intense hatred toward werewolves; yet, after living here for so long—mostly on her own—she eventually realized that not all werewolves are evil.

"There." She said, having finished applying medication and dressings to its wounds, as well as splinting its broken legs. Seeing that it remained motionless, she leaned in to check once more if it was still breathing. She lowered her face and listened intently for its heartbeat.

Her brow furrowed, however, when she realized the heartbeat wasn't on the left side—it was on the right.

She slapped her own face.

"I must just be exhausted."

"You're... not mis...taken. My heart is on the... right side of my chest." He whispered, struggling to speak—his voice barely audible.