Danro lies in his stone cave, with his two wolves and ten dogs. It was night already, and even though his bed was small, it was enough to hold his unusually large, nine-years-old body.

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His dark blue blankets are growing darker by the day; he does not wash them, he does not know washing. His wolf, Blacky, the Alpha of the pack, sleeps alongside him in these hideous situations called “nights,” to which Danro feels sincere gratitude.

He pushes a huge, circle boulder to close the cave, and the boulder rolls only once and then holds a firm grip on the ground, denying to move. Its determined grasp is wonderful for its strength that no outsider has the muscle to push it aside, only the boulder leaves the cave slightly ajar, a gateway to what lurches beyond.

And the nights are very noisy. Owls’ screeches and snakes’ sizzles and crickets’ swishes. Danro stares through the ajar space, looking at utter darkness. The twelve animal friends of his are in deep slumber, and he envies how their faces show—peace. The fire he earlier made is dying rapidly. Soon the darkness that is prowling at the gate will consume the cave. And he hates that his eyelids are tittering to remain apart.

I will be fine; Blacky is with me, he forces his mind to murmur. Closing his eyes is terrible, although he knows the dreams don’t always come to take him away. They are occasional, and he knows how they favor noisy and thunderous nights. The nights has always been full of voices that sometimes, it is so hard to tell whether they come from outside or from the back of his head. Blacky can battle a beast from the darkness, and who is to battle what chases him from the inside?

But by no means is he less grateful to these two magnificent wolves that aids his survival in the woods. Who would have thought that those two small puppies cuddled behind a mountain of leaves would become his guardians? They were all thick furs, harmless, just two abandoned puppies whining. He took them, fed them, protected them.

Black fur clothing it from head to toe, Blacky has a pair of yellow eyes full of aggression and bravery and it has grown really large. It is a privilege to have it by his side. And Hadly is a fun and friendly wolf whose gray and white colors of his fur make him seem happy, along with his grey eyes. It sprints back and forth, conjuring joy, when they are hunting, but it is not so cheerful to cross Blacky.

The Woods has taught them all, including Danro, the most important lesson. Though they each vary in intensity, dominance, size, stealth, and strength, deep down there lies the same foundation.

But even having that strong core, Danro is weak to close his eyes. He is helpless to go back there again and see. His thoughts are swirling around, wondering what he can do to not fall asleep, musing what awaits. Although he allows the flow of thoughts to keep himself awake, any minute the thoughts will trick him into it, as they has done many times before.

The fire has died. The moon must be hiding today, since it is too dark that there is no difference between shut and open eyes. Not long after, Danro falls asleep.

His body is still, Blacky’s warmth showering his calves. He remains still, hours running by, until slight voices begin eluding him. A shallow frown is disfiguring his eyebrows, and his head slowly shakes left and right, as if he was trying to reject something.

He audibly inhales through his nose and exhales muffled squeals. It is almost dawn, the songs of birds say so. He has survived yet another night, awaiting the next.