While saving the wolves from the water, the gamekeeper could never have imagined how they would than

I reached for the knife at my belt, my survival instincts screaming that the pack had returned to finish what the lake had started. One by one, the grey shapes emerged from the swirling snow, surrounding me.

I prepared for the end, bracing myself for the first lunge. But the wolves didn’t crouch or growl; they simply sat in the snow, forming a living wall against the biting wind. The lead wolf—the one from the lake—walked up to me and nudged my shoulder with its snout. It was a firm, deliberate push, as if it were trying to wake me from a deadly sleep.

It began to walk slowly into the whiteout, stopping every few yards to look back and see if I was following. It was a silent invitation I couldn’t afford to refuse.