Wolf suddenly stopped its run. Its feral nose felt smells much more sharply than any other being. The areas that escaped the storm were not covered with snow and the autumn vegetation had kept its colors.

It sniffed the air, trying to capture the origin of that particular smell. A scent of memories, of peace, of family. Not far away, it saw two lifeless bodies surrounded by bloody grass. After approaching, it first sniffed the corpse of the decapitated knight and, immediately afterwards, continued in the direction of the one who attracted it, towards that face which it had looked at too many times. It sniffed it. It smelled every part of his body in search of a small vital spark, but it did not find it. With its wild muzzle, it moved the head of that individual, so familiar, first to the right, then to the left and again to the right. It shook his torso, his legs, but his eyes remained closed. When it sensed that life had abandoned the one with whom it had grown up and that he had fed it for years, Wolf at first emitted a feeble yelp, a cry, which became more and more intense until it became a melancholy howl of pain. He lay down beside him and continued to moan like a puppy that had just lost its mother.