A tense moment stretched out like an eternity. Then, slowly, the wolf stepped away from the injured animal on the floor. A wave of relief washed over Marianne—this was a sign of permission. Gingerly, she pressed the cloth to the wound, the animal flinching slightly but otherwise too weak to protest.
Brother Paul handed Marianne a roll of bandages. She wrapped the animal’s flank with trembling hands, every second expecting the wolf to snap in protective rage. Yet the wolf merely watched, panting softly, its gaze flicking between Marianne’s face and the animal, as if weighing each movement’s intent.