The wolf approached slowly, almost within arm’s reach. Its breathing was clearly audible—warm, ragged, alive. Henryk Dąbrowski felt it with his whole body, hanging upside down, his head dazed, his heart pounding wildly. The predator lifted its muzzle and looked him straight in the face. Their gazes met. There was no rage in the wolf’s amber eyes. No hunger. There was something else—alert, watchful, almost… aware. Henryk inhaled sharply. “If you’re going to…” he rasped, not knowing why, “do it quickly…” The wolf tilted his head, as if listening. Then he made a sudden movement—his fangs clamped not on the man’s flesh, but on the rope. Henryk didn’t immediately understand what was happening. He felt only a strong tug at his legs, then another.
Leave a Comment