Marro ran through the trees like a shadow unchained. His heart beat fast—not out of fear, but from the pulsing urgency in his chest.
The early dawn was barely stretching itself over the sky, and the first lines of light sliced through the trees like thin blades of silver. His bare feet kicked up cold earth and leaves, and the wind whispered memories he'd been trying to silence for days.
He didn't know the man's name.
Not truly.
To him, he was just the strange-eyed wolf who'd been dragged into the clearing, bloody and broken, but still alive.
Still breathing.
Still fighting.
Marro didn't know why he had helped him.
He had lost his family for him.
Everyone was out to get him
But he'd seen the look in that man's eyes, the haunting glimmer of someone who had lost everything and yet refused to die.
He couldn't let him die. Not then.
And because of that single choice… his world burned.
He had seen his father's pieced body lying on the floor of their little cottage.
