He fell beside me like a chunk of night.
I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the bite of teeth. My ears rang with fear, my legs gave way on their own. I could smell him—thick, warm, heavy, with a note of blood and wet fur. The air around us grew tight, as if his breathing alone filled the whole pit.
But there was no pain.
At first there was only sound: claws scraping over the ground, a dull thud of chest against the crust, a short, wheezed-out groan between his teeth. I carefully cracked one eye open.
The wolf was standing on all fours. He had landed awkwardly, but stayed upright. Clumps of snow and frozen dirt were sliding from his shoulders. His strong neck stretched forward, ears pinned back in alert focus. He stood sideways to me—close enough for me to see every strand of his dark fur, yet not taking a single step closer.
He wasn't looking at me.
The wolf lifted his head and pinned his gaze to the wall of the pit. His nostrils flared, drawing in the damp smell of earth. Then he slowly walked the circle, feeling out where it was higher, where it was firmer. His paws stepped carefully, but far more confidently than mine.
I didn't know what to do. My entire being, ovine to the marrow, screamed just one thing: hide, lie down, don't breathe. Another part of me—the part that still remembered what it was like to stand on two legs, to look down from above—watched in silence.
The wolf stopped where I had already tried to climb. My crooked streaks still scarred the wall—dirty, uneven. He lowered his muzzle, sniffed them, then looked up.
The gray sky reflected in his eyes.
He took a step toward me.
I pressed harder against the wall, feeling my toe-fingers—no, hooves—sliding on the ice. My muscles locked up. I even stopped breathing, teeth clenched.
The wolf came closer still. Now there were no more than a couple of steps between us. I could feel the heat radiating from him, feel his broad chest rising and falling.
He lowered his head. His nose brushed my neck—a short, sharp touch, like being struck with a cold stone. I flinched and nearly collapsed to my knees. Everything inside me screamed to run.
But instead of a bite, came a shove.
A powerful shoulder drove into my side, pushing me toward the wall. Not so much painful as unexpected. I staggered, took a step, then another. The wolf seemed to be herding me, not letting me move away.
"Baa?.." slipped out, confused.
He answered with a short, irritated growl. Not a hunter's sound, but more like a shepherd hurrying along a stubborn animal.
Realizing that only confused me more.
The wolf stopped right up against the wall, muscles tightening. The fur on his shoulders lifted. He crouched down slightly, bracing his paws as if about to jump, but he didn't. Instead he pushed me again, bringing me as close to himself as possible.
I stood beside him, side to side. His warmth burned through my fleece like a campfire. My heart beat so hard my legs wanted to fold.
Only when he dipped his head even lower and pressed his side against the wall did I understand.
He wanted me to climb onto him.
The thought seemed insane. A sheep—on the back of a wolf, in a pit with no way out. Somewhere deep in my mind, something smirked: it's not like things can get any worse.
Carefully, I set my front leg on his shoulder. The fur beneath my hoof was thick, coarse, warm. The wolf tensed, but didn't move away. The second leg followed. I was almost hanging off him now, clutching his hide with my teeth so I wouldn't slip.
The wolf exhaled sharply. A tremor passed through his chest.
Then he moved.
He didn't leap in one bound—he started slowly, heavily hauling himself upward, like a huge shadow that had decided to become a mountain. His forepaws clung to every projection, claws gouging chunks of earth and ice from the walls. His hind legs pushed us both up.
I could feel him straining with his whole body. Every movement jolted through me. Sometimes his paws slipped and we both slid half a step down, earth crumbling under us, but again and again he braced himself, found purchase, and shoved us higher.
I pressed into him, terrified of letting go. Snow crumbled from the upper layers, fell onto his back, melted from his heat and then chilled again on my fur.
For a moment I almost stopped being afraid. There was only the rhythm: shove, inhale, claw-scrape, heavy breath.
Suddenly something firmer than loose snow appeared beneath my forehooves—a root. Instinctively I planted myself on it, hauling my body up. The edge of the pit was so close that open air struck my eyes.
The gray sky was no longer a distant round hole. It stretched above me as a wide, cold emptiness. I reached forward, catching the rim with my hooves; the snow broke away, but still held me.
Behind me the wolf heaved with his shoulder.
I tumbled out.
The snow caught me roughly, but softer than the ground below. I rolled several steps, stuffing cold grains into my ears and mouth. The wind hit my muzzle at once, piercing, smelling of distance and forest.
I lay there, breathing with my mouth wide open. Every breath made my lungs burn as if I were inhaling ice instead of air.
Only after a few moments did I remember the wolf.
I crawled right up to the edge. Below, he was trying to climb again. Without me on his back, his body was lighter, but the wall seemed even steeper. He jumped, his claws bit into the earth, leaving furrows, but each time he was dragged downward. Snow poured onto him from above, deafening and blinding him.
I saw his legs trembling, saw dark patches spreading along his side—sweat or blood, I didn't know. Every lunge echoed somewhere beneath my ribs.
He could have chosen not to jump. He could have stayed down there alone, waited for me to freeze, and eaten me at his leisure. But he didn't.
The wolf lunged upward once more, hooked his claws over the edge, and for a second his muzzle was very close to mine. His eyes—dark, heavy—met my own.
There was no plea in them. Only exhaustion and stubborn will.
I stood there, hooves digging into the snow, and I knew I could leave. Turn around, take a few steps—and that would be it. I might not even hear him fall.
My heart thudded dully. The wind battered my sides, blowing the last of the warmth from my fleece.
I leaned down. As far as my short neck allowed, I stretched forward and clamped my teeth into the fur at the back of his neck.
It tasted salty with sweat.
The wolf growled—a short, surprised sound—but didn't shake me off. I pulled with all my strength. My hooves slipped, the snow gave way beneath them, but I braced myself again and again. My whole body cramped from the strain.
For a moment I was sure I would fall down with him and we'd trade places. But just then the wolf kicked upward with his back legs, dug in even harder—and the weight in my teeth suddenly grew lighter.
We crashed into the snow together.
I tumbled over from the momentum, almost cracking my head on the ground. The wolf flopped onto his side nearby, legs sprawled. Steam poured from his jaws—thick, heavy. He was breathing as if he'd run across the entire world.
We lay there, our sides almost touching.
For the first time, I allowed myself to close my eyes. Not from fear, but from exhaustion. The wind roared in my ears, somewhere far away another wolf was crying, but here, at the edge of the pit, it was strangely peaceful.
After a while the wolf got up. He shook out his fur, shedding the snow, and looked around. His gaze lingered on the horizon—where the gray sky merged with the white field.
Then he looked at me.
That look was nothing like that of a beast choosing its prey. More like someone checking: are you coming, or staying?
He snorted, turned, and walked forward, leaving a chain of deep tracks in the snow.
I watched him go. The pit remained behind us—a black, round hole in the white earth. Take a few steps away and you could almost no longer see it. You could pretend it had never existed, that I had simply found myself here, in the snow.
But when I turned back to it, my heart clenched.
If I left alone, everything would start again: the cold, the fear, the emptiness, the uncertainty. If I followed the wolf—something else would begin. No less frightening, but no longer alone.
I got to my feet. My hooves sank slightly into the fresh snow. Slowly, feeling that same old sheep's fear waking up inside me again, I took my first step in his tracks. Then a second.
The wolf didn't look back, but his trail led straight ahead, into the white wilderness.
I followed him.