The wolf paused until she steadied, then pushed on toward a tangle of green fishing net draped over a shape struggling beneath. Whatever lay trapped was smeared in thick black goo that oozed from a cracked drum nearby. The whimper came again—high, trembling, desperate. Noemi drew closer but still could not tell what the creature was.
It was small, but not tiny; fur clung in soaked clumps, so coated in sludge it looked tar‑black all over. A flash of white teeth appeared as it tried to gnaw the net, then disappeared in a pitiful yelp. A surge of anger swept through her—at whoever dumped the waste, at herself for doubting the wolf, at the world for letting creatures suffer unseen.