Perched on a high branch of a towering pine, the wolf-woman watched the scene with sharp eyes, every muscle in her body tense but unmoving. Her ebony fur blended seamlessly with the shadow of the snow-laden branches, leaving only a faint bluish gleam in her pupils to betray her presence. Her ears, upright and alert, swiveled to catch the surrounding sounds, detecting even the faintest breath or movement in the frozen environment. The wind weaved through the trees, lifting swirls of snow that danced around her. Yet she remained motionless, a bastion of calm amidst the restless forest. Her white tail swayed slightly, an almost imperceptible rhythm that betrayed her focus. ???? (internal thought, observing with curiosity): He doesn't run... He fights. No panic... just raw determination. Interesting. But why does he fight so fiercely? Against what? Against himself? Her piercing eyes stayed locked on Veil below, missing no detail. She studied every movement, every hesitation, every flicker of rage in his gaze. A growing curiosity took root within her, an interest she didn't yet fully understand. On the ground, the last wolf advanced slowly. Its massive paws sank deep into the snow, leaving tracks that marked its approach—a countdown to the inevitable. Its bloodied jaws opened and closed with an almost mechanical rhythm, revealing gleaming fangs under the dim light. Veil was standing, but barely. His shoulders sagged from the effort, his ragged breathing causing his chest to heave in fits and starts. The snow beneath him was stained red, his blood forming a stark contrast against the pristine white. A deep gash on his right leg continued to bleed heavily, each drop a testament to his critical condition. Despite the visible pain etched on his face, he refused to give in. Veil (panting): "Hah... hah... it's... not over…" His voice, weak yet defiant, echoed in the icy air. His legs trembled, and his fingers, numbed by the cold, could no longer grip his improvised weapons properly. Yet his eyes still burned with an unyielding intensity. ???? (internal thought, intrigued and pensive): He's at his limit... but he's still holding on. This isn't just courage... He's trying to prove something. To himself? To the world? Why such a desperate need? The wolf, as if responding to this silent provocation, suddenly leaped. Its muscles exploded into motion, sending a spray of snow into the air. Its gleaming fangs were poised to bite, its fierce gaze locked onto its target. Driven by desperate instinct, Veil dove to the side. His fingers scrabbled through the snow, frantically searching for a weapon. His hand struck a broken tree trunk at his feet, and he grabbed it tightly, the rough bark biting into his palms. Veil (internal thought, determined and ready to act): It's now or never... I won't get another chance. With a guttural cry, he swung the trunk down with all his strength at the wolf mid-leap. CRACK. The dull sound of wood meeting the wolf's skull echoed through the snowy forest. The animal's body crashed heavily into the snow, sending a spray of white into the air. It lay still, its legs splayed, its eyes now lifeless and unmoving. The force of the impact caused a faint tremor to ripple through the branch where the observer stood. A few snowflakes fell gently around her, carried by a chilling breeze. Yet she remained still, her gaze fixed intently on the man below. ???? (internal thought, intrigued but analytical): He did it. But he's about to collapse. Is it worth it? Why would a human go this far? Below, Veil took a step back, his legs buckling beneath him. Veil (panting): "Hah... hah... it's... over…" He collapsed to his knees, his hands sinking into the icy snow. The biting cold seeped into his bare skin, but he felt nothing beyond the crushing exhaustion. Each ragged breath made his trembling shoulders rise and fall, as if his body were fighting just to stay conscious. A fleeting smile crossed his pale face, marked by fatigue and pain. Veil (internal thought, breathless and incredulous): I survived... I'm alive… His head lowered slowly, his eyes settling on the blood-stained snow around him. The violent contrast between red and white seemed hypnotic, almost unreal. A wave of disbelief washed over him. How was he still alive after such an ordeal? Every moment felt blurry, unreal. In the shadows of the branches above, the wolf-woman continued to watch him intently. Her eyes, glinting with an almost feline light, seemed to pierce through the survivor's thoughts. She didn't move, but the faintest flick of her white tail, imperceptible to an untrained eye, betrayed her silent contemplation. ???? (internal thought, pensive and intrigued): How far can your will carry you, stranger? And what are you willing to sacrifice to stay standing? Still kneeling, Veil let his gaze drift slowly to the lifeless bodies of the wolves scattered around him. Their silvery-blue fur, once vibrant with life, now seemed to faintly shimmer with a strange residual energy. A soft, flickering light escaped from their pelts, like fragments of a soul refusing to fully extinguish. Veil (internal thought, torn between relief and amazement): They were so... powerful. And now, they're nothing. A heavy silence settled over the clearing. The entire forest seemed frozen in a moment of observation, as if it too were holding its breath. Even the wind, until now a constant presence, had stilled, leaving the scene cloaked in an almost sacred stillness. Suddenly, the luminous particles floating around the wolves began to converge. They danced in the air, carried by an invisible current, before gathering at a single point in the snow. A shiver ran through Veil. His exhaustion momentarily gave way to confusion and unease as he furrowed his brow, squinting to observe the strange phenomenon. Before his eyes, the outlines of several objects slowly took shape in the blood-stained snow. First, a crude dagger appeared. Its blade, though roughly forged, seemed sturdy—built to endure in this unforgiving environment. Beside it, pieces of dried meat, their surface glinting faintly under the diffuse light, emitted a subtle but appetizing scent. Finally, makeshift bandages, simple yet clean, rested delicately on the blood-soaked snow as if waiting to be used. Veil froze for a moment, his thoughts clouded by exhaustion and confusion. Veil (looking at the objects): "What... is this?" His voice, hoarse and barely audible, carried a mix of confusion and wariness. His eyes darted between the objects, as if they were a puzzle he couldn't unravel. Veil (internal thought, troubled and wary): These items... Did they come from the wolves? But how? This isn't... normal. Nothing here is. His hands hovered over the objects, hesitating for a moment. Part of him wanted to grab them immediately, but another part whispered that he needed to remain cautious. Veil (internal thought, hesitant but vigilant): Is this a trap? Or a chance? His hands trembled slightly as he hesitated to move. Every muscle in his body screamed with fatigue, but necessity overpowered his exhaustion. Slowly, he reached out toward the objects in front of him. Curiosity and survival instinct mingled, pushing him to surpass his limits to make sense of this almost unreal anomaly. Veil finally brought his trembling hand toward the dagger. His fingers, numb from the cold, brushed against the icy surface of the handle. A shiver ran up his arm, heightening both his weariness and his wariness. He paused for a moment, his eyes fixed on the rudimentary weapon. His breath hung in the frigid air, forming ephemeral clouds. Veil (internal thought, perplexed but pragmatic): This is... strange. Why these items? Why now? It doesn't matter... I have to take them. If I don't, I'll have nothing to defend myself with. Summoning what little courage he had left, he gripped the handle firmly. The metal felt rough against his fingers, but its solidity offered a fragile reassurance—the kind provided by a simple yet vital tool in this hostile environment. Veil (murmuring): "Alright... this will do... just... one step at a time." He pulled the dagger toward him, holding it up to his eyes. It wasn't perfect—its blade appeared worn, its handle crudely carved—but in his hands, it represented a chance. An opportunity to fight, to survive. Veil (internal thought): It'll do. I don't have a choice. He slid the dagger into his belt, his numb fingers struggling to ensure it was secure. Then, his gaze shifted to the other items. The pieces of dried meat and the bandages seemed almost unreal, as if they had been left there intentionally. Veil (to himself, thoughtful but pragmatic): "Food... and something to treat wounds. A gift? A test? Doesn't matter... I'll need them." He reached out to grab the pieces of meat. They were lighter than he expected, their rough texture betraying their preserved state. He placed them in his small satchel, carefully fastening the flap, though his hands still trembled. Finally, he took the bandages. The fabric was cold and stiff, but clean—a luxury in such an environment. Veil (murmuring): "This... could save my life." He carefully stored the bandages in his satchel, ensuring they were well-protected. The entire process, though simple in appearance, demanded monumental effort. His muscles protested, his vision wavered, but he pushed through. High above, the wolf-woman remained perfectly still, her body blending seamlessly into the shadowed, snow-covered branches. Her brilliant blue eyes followed Veil's every movement with an almost predatory intensity, like a hunter assessing its prey. Nothing escaped her piercing gaze: every hesitant gesture, every labored breath became a clue she interpreted with precision. Her white tail, contrasting sharply with the surrounding darkness, swayed slowly from side to side. The rhythmic, almost hypnotic motion mirrored the silent deliberation unfolding in her mind. ???? (internal thought, observing with calculated interest): He hesitates... but he moves forward. He thinks before he acts. Not bad... for a human in such a miserable state. With a fluid and precise motion, she straightened on her branch. Her perfect balance spoke to an absolute mastery of her environment. The wood beneath her feet emitted a faint creak, almost imperceptible, as if respecting her silence. She took a light step, her movements as graceful as a shadow slipping through the trees. Then, in an elegant leap, she disappeared into the darkness. Her silhouette vanished among the snow-laden branches, blending into the shadows as though she had never been there. The faint rustling of pine needles was her only trace, a sound so subtle it was almost lost in the murmur of the wind. Below, Veil, unaware of this silent presence, remained kneeling in the snow. The snowflakes, indifferent to everything that had transpired, continued to fall gently around him. They accumulated on his shoulders, forming a cold, white mantle—a silent witness to his fight for survival.