The house felt colder than usual that night.
Yuki hugged her thin shawl closer around her shoulders as she stood in the doorway, staring at the darkened streets beyond. Her stepmother's voice still echoed behind her, sharp and final.
"If you miss your mother so much, go sleep with her in the graveyard. You're no longer welcome here."
Her father had said nothing. His hands had hung at his sides, trembling slightly, but his mouth remained closed. Yuki had learned long ago that silence sometimes carried more weight than words.
Since her mother's passing two years ago, everything had changed. Small things at first: a new curtain in the living room, her mother's old shawl discarded, the familiar scent of the kitchen replaced by something cold and unfamiliar. Then it became rules she could never keep: speak less, eat last, always stay out of sight.
Her father had tried. He always tried. But grief had hollowed him, and guilt had made him weak. He could defend her only so much, and every time he did, her stepmother found a way to twist it, to regain control. Tonight, there was nothing he could do.
Yuki did not argue. She did not pack. She simply walked.
The village lay quiet under the soft light of a full moon. She followed the narrow path leading to the cemetery at the forest's edge, the place where she had felt closest to her mother.
She reached the grave and knelt, brushing away fallen leaves with hands that shook slightly. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry I can't be enough. I'm sorry I'm still here."
Her mother's name carved into stone was cold under her fingers, but it grounded her. She curled up beside the grave, the grass pressing against her cheek. For now, this place was safe. This place remembered her. This place belonged to her.
She had almost drifted into a fragile sleep when a sharp crack broke the silence.
Gunshots.
Her body stiffened.
Instinct made her push herself up. The forest beyond the cemetery seemed impossibly still, as if it, too, were holding its breath.
A low, pained sound came from somewhere among the trees. Not loud, not threatening, but unmistakably alive.
Yuki hesitated. Hunters were nearby. She could not see what was wounded, could not know if it was dangerous. She should turn back. She should hide.
But she couldn't.
Step by careful step, she moved toward the sound, the moon guiding her path. And then she saw him.
A wolf. Large. Grey. Its fur matted with blood, its side pierced by a bullet. He struggled to rise, his chest heaving. His golden eyes flicked to hers.
She froze.
It would have been easy to panic, to scream. But he did not move toward her. He only looked tired, frightened, and utterly alone.
Her chest tightened. She understood loneliness. She understood being unwanted. She understood pain that no one could fix.
"Don't move," she whispered. Her voice barely carried in the night air. "I won't hurt you."
The wolf tried to lift his head and fell back, weak. Blood seeped through the leaves beneath him. Yuki's fingers shook as she pressed a hand gently to his fur, just enough to offer comfort.
Outside, voices echoed faintly. Hunters were still near. If they returned, they would finish what they had started.
"We can't stay here," she murmured. "Come with me. I'll keep you safe."
Slowly, carefully, she guided him through the forest. His legs trembled violently, but he followed, trusting her in ways she could not understand. She led him to an old, abandoned shed near the edge of the cemetery — a place no one used anymore.
Inside, he collapsed. Yuki closed the creaking door behind them and sank to her knees beside him, pressing a hand to the wound. The sight of him like this, hurt and helpless, struck her harder than any words.
"Why am I helping you?" she whispered to the empty room. Perhaps it was because she recognized the same feeling in him that lived inside her — the feeling of being abandoned, unwanted, and alone.
His golden eyes met hers once more, softening before they closed. Outside, the moon climbed higher, and the forest held its quiet vigil.
Yuki stayed there, kneeling beside him, aware that this night, this strange, impossible night, had changed everything.
And neither of them yet knew how much their lives would be transformed before the moon had fully set.