The man reached the truck, breathing heavily and his pulse still racing. He opened the back door with restrained clumsiness, careful not to slip on the hardened snow, and settled the little girl into the seat. He laid her down with surprising gentleness for his rough hands, adjusting her head so that it was supported and protected. The steam from his breath trembled in the frozen air as he checked, almost fearfully, that the faint movement of her chest continued.
—You're safe now... hang on a little longer — he whispered.
Then he whistled softly, a short, familiar sound. Kwan, Rain, and Iris came immediately. The man lowered the tailgate of the truck and the dogs jumped in, shaking off the snow. He closed it firmly, walked around the vehicle, and slumped into the driver's seat. His fingers, stiff from the cold, took a second to turn the key. The engine finally roared to life, breaking the silence of the forest.
During the journey, the road wound its way between frost-laden trees. The gray sky heralded another snowfall. Every so often, the man glanced up at the rearview mirror; there, wrapped in makeshift blankets, the girl lay motionless.
—Not long now... hang in there — she whispered, as if her voice could anchor her to life.
The minutes melted away amid curves and tense breaths until, finally, the first houses of the village emerged from the white mist. She stopped in front of a solitary dwelling, clearly battered by the years and endless winters. The exterior paint, once white, was now a mosaic of cracks, exposed wood, and yellowish tones. The roof, covered with accumulated snow, sagged slightly in the center. The windows were fogged up, and next to the door hung an old lamp that swayed gently in the wind. Even so, a faint warm light escaped from inside.
The man turned off the engine, unbuckled his seatbelt with trembling hands, and quickly got out. He opened the back door and picked up the girl again. Her body was light... too light. He held her closer to his chest and walked toward the entrance, the snow crunching under his hurried footsteps.
From the back of the truck, the dogs began to bark.
The sounds broke the silence. The door flew open.
A man in his fifties appeared in the doorway. He was wearing a slightly wrinkled white coat and rectangular glasses that reflected the light from outside. His dark skin contrasted with the white landscape, and his dark hair, sprinkled with gray, fell messily over his forehead.
—Rane! —the newcomer shouted, his voice urgent—. Help me, it's an emergency!
Rane barely needed to look to understand. His eyes widened with professional alarm.
—Come in, quickly.
He stepped aside and guided the man inside. Warm air immediately hit them, heavy with the smell of alcohol, dried herbs, and burning wood. They crossed a small hallway to a room improvised as a doctor's office. There, a reinforced bed served as a stretcher, covered with immaculately clean sheets.
—Here — Rane ordered.
The man laid the girl down carefully. Rane immediately bent down, checking her breathing, pulse, and temperature. His movements were quick, precise, trained. He opened a nearby drawer and began searching through jars, bandages, and metal instruments.
From the doorway, Haru stood motionless. His hands hung uselessly at his sides. Exhaustion, fear, and uncertainty weighed on him like another layer of ice.
—Haru —Rane asked without stopping his work—. What happened? Who is she?
—I don't know... —he replied in a low voice—. I found her in the forest.
Rane looked up for a moment.
—Was she alone?
—Completely. There was no one else there.
The doctor frowned.
—That's... strange.
Without wasting any time, he began the necessary procedures. He removed her damp clothes, applied gradual heat, checked her limbs, and prepared solutions and medication. The sound of metal, the rustling of fabric, and Haru's restrained breathing filled the room.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Rane exhaled slowly. He adjusted the thermal blankets and watched the girl for a few more seconds before approaching Haru.
—You can rest assured —he said in a firm but calm voice—. She's stable. Her body responded well. She'll recover.
Haru closed his eyes for a moment. Relief washed over him like a warm wave.
—Thank you... Rane.
The doctor gave a small, tired smile.
—It's okay, it's what a doctor does.
Then he looked at him with a certain friendly severity.
—Go get some rest. At your age, it's not good to accumulate so many strong impressions in a single day.
Haru let out a weak laugh.
—I suppose you're right... I'll come back later.
He turned slowly and left the room, while the distant crackling of the fire and the faint breathing of the girl filled the silence.
Haru left the house, his body still tense, but as soon as the icy afternoon air hit his face, something struck him like a bolt of lightning.
—The dogs...
Everything had happened so abruptly that he had left them in the truck. Cursing under his breath, he descended the snow-covered steps and walked quickly toward the vehicle. His breathing quickened again as he circled around to the back.
He stopped dead in his tracks.
The tailgate was closed... but empty.
A cold, unsettling emptiness opened up in his stomach.
—Kwan?… Rain?… Iris?
The silence of the village seemed to mock his alarm. Then, a bark broke the stillness. Haru turned his head sharply.
There they were.
The three dogs were running toward him from the side of the house, kicking up small clouds of snow as they went. Kwan led the race, Rain advanced with her agile and elegant trot, and Iris was almost jumping rather than running, bursting with energy.
Behind them walked a woman.
Haru fell to his knees in the snow, not caring about the cold, and opened his arms. The dogs rushed toward him, colliding with force, licking his hands and face, making low, eager sounds.
—Forgive me, guys... I'm sorry, I'm sorry... it won't happen again —he whispered, hugging them tightly.
A warm, slightly amused voice sounded a few steps away.
—No need for such drama.
Haru looked up.
The woman stopped in front of him with a calm smile. She was around fifty years old, with olive skin gently marked by time and cheeks reddened by the cold. She wore a long burgundy wool coat, cinched at the waist, with a wide collar covered by a cream-colored hand-knitted scarf. Her high boots were speckled with snow, and dark gloves peeked out from her sleeves. Her brown hair, pulled back into a loose braid, rested on her shoulder.
—I saw them alone in the truck —she explained casually—. So I helped them out. They looked hungry... and offended.
Rain wagged her tail as if to confirm the accusation.
Haru let out an embarrassed laugh as she stood up.
—Thank you, Soleia... I owe you one.
She shook her head gently.
—You've owed me a lot for years.
Her warm but steady eyes shifted to the sky, which was beginning to turn shades of blue-gray.
—It's going to get dark soon, Haru. You should go home. You can come back later.
He nodded, understanding. Fatigue was beginning to weigh heavily on his shoulders.
—Then... see you tomorrow.
He opened the back door of the truck and the dogs climbed in without protest, settling down amid snowflakes and satisfied snorts. Haru gave Soleia one last grateful look before climbing into the driver's seat.
The engine roared again, breaking the stillness of the street.
As the truck slowly drove away, Soleia stood motionless, watching it disappear into the white mist.