All the while, the church felt charged with tension. Every footstep in the corridor outside, every soft shuffle from volunteers, made the mother wolf’s ears twitch. Brother Paul moved slowly, ensuring he made no sudden gestures. The atmosphere was fragile.
At last, the makeshift bandage was secured. Marianne glanced up at the wolf, tears once again threatening to spill from her eyes. She gently stroked the animal’s head, feeling its shallow but steady breathing. “We’re here to help,” she whispered, casting a reassuring glance at the wolf.