From the moment she was born, Little Wolf had always wondered: why was she different from the others? Her body was built just like theirs, so why was her fur pure white?
As she grew older, she realized the differences ran deeper. While the black wolves lived only to survive, she found herself constantly thinking—observing the world around her, questioning everything.
She didn’t even need to eat like them. The sight of bloody meat made her queasy, yet she couldn’t vomit since she never ate.
She noticed other pups had adults caring for them—nursing them, teaching them to hunt after weaning.
*Parents?* The word surfaced in her mind unbidden. *What even is a "mind"?*
Thinking was natural for a wolf. But *this* much thinking? Strange words kept popping up—words she’d never heard—only to be quietly explained by her own consciousness later.
She didn’t know if other pups were like this. But she *knew* she was unique. Like a white feather among crows.
Soon, the adult wolves seemed like mindless creatures obsessed only with food and mating. Their alpha? A fool. *Why follow him? I’d do better…*
Then she was exiled.
The reason was simple: she couldn’t howl. The pack turned on her. When she didn’t fight back, they even let the pups practice biting her—to "train" the next generation.
Leaving didn’t hurt. She’d never felt the pack was home. *Home…* Just a word, yet it sparked a strange longing in her chest.
Wandering alone suited her. She needed no food, feared no rain or cold. *I should’ve left sooner. This wilderness is where I belong.*
At dawn, she’d climb the cliff edge to watch the sunrise. At dusk, she’d gaze at the blazing sunset clouds. Her mind gave this feeling a name: *beauty*.
Splashing fish in the river brought *joy*.
Walking alone through the night forest birthed *loneliness*. Seeing lights in the darkness sparked *curiosity*…
These feelings pulled her toward a wider world.
Then she met humans—strange two-legged creatures. She approached them, smug in her belief they were dumb beasts.
But they trapped her instantly with a strange net. Darkness swallowed her the moment it closed over her head.
*Captured…* The thought shocked her. *Why me? What’s so special about a white wolf?*
Then she saw the corpses of black wolves. For the first time, she felt *fear*—raw terror of death. Even her clever mind couldn’t outrun it. She struggled against the ropes, but her strength was useless.
*"Why bother struggling?"*
An old hunting dog, lounging against the wagon’s edge, spoke without looking at her.
Little Wolf froze. *I can understand him?*
*"Why not?"* she panted. *"I’m scared—"*
*"Scared of what? We all die eventually."*
*"But I’m* alive *now! Alive means fearing death. And hoping… maybe I’ll survive."*
*"Is that how all wild things think?"*
*"I don’t know about them. But I’m… different."*
*"Hah. I thought I was special too once."* The dog scratched lazily at the wooden floor. *"Now I just wait to die. Save your strength, kid."* He curled up and closed his eyes.
Little Wolf kept twisting. Miraculously, the ropes loosened—she slipped free! But before she could leap away, the old dog’s paw slammed down on her back.
*"Let me go! You let me escape the ropes!"*
*"My master tied those ropes. Not my problem. My job is keeping you here."*
No matter how hard she writhed, his weight pinned her like stone.
Then—the wagon lurched violently sideways. Both slid toward the tilting floor. The dog’s ears shot up. *This tilt’s too steep—*
Weightlessness hit them. They were falling.
