The wolf kept its distance but paced in an anxious semicircle, ears swiveling to the rhythm of her cuts. Finally the last loop snapped. The creature—still nameless, shapeless under the grime—tried to push upright, managed half a step, then collapsed with a thin, painful squeal. Its back legs twitched, useless.
Pale‑gray eyes rimmed with fear locked on Noemi’s. A second later the lids fluttered, and the small body sagged in the net as if the effort had drained its last strength. Panic jolted her into motion. It needed warmth, pressure—anything to keep its heart going.