White wolf

A little white wolf named Zimko lived with his pack in the northern forest. His pack was large - mom, dad, four brothers and two sisters, Uncle Iris, Aunt Luna, and a couple of cousins. They all hunted together, slept together, and played together.

One day they went far away to hunt. They went into the mountains, crossed the river, and found themselves in new forests. Suddenly, a great blizzard struck. The wind whirled the snow, the trees groaned, and nothing was visible.

The pack scattered. Zimko lost track of his mother. He shouted, howled, barked - no one answered. And the blizzard carried him further and further.

When the blizzard subsided, Zimko was alone in a strange forest. Not the forest where he was born. The trees here smelled different. And there was more snow. And the stars seemed to shine differently.

He howled. Evening, night, night again. His voice was thin, childish—even to himself it was funny. But no one answered. He was hungry. He ate half a mouse. He froze. He cried wolfish tears—and wolves rarely cry.

Before Christmas Eve, he settled down under the roots of fallen trees. He closed his eyes. He thought: "The wolves of others will kill me. This is their territory. I am a little white mouse to them. It is better for me to fall asleep here myself and never wake up.".

In the morning, Zimko heard footsteps. Soft, cautious. He opened his eyes. Six adult gray wolves stood between the trees. They were looking at him intently. They didn't snap their teeth. They didn't growl. They just looked.

Zimko trembled. He raised his head. He put his throat up — as his mother had taught him, in a sign of submission. "I'm small. I'm not attacking. Don't eat me.".

The biggest wolf—gray, with wise eyes, obviously the leader—came closer. He bent down. He sniffed Zimko. And suddenly—he licked him on the top of the head. Like his father licked him. Like his mother.

“Are you alone, little one?” he asked. His voice was low but kind.

Zimko just nodded.

"The pack got lost in a blizzard. I'm from the northern forest. I don't know the way back.".

The leader looked back at his pack. The other wolves approached. The young she-wolf bent down and licked Zimko's cheek. Another wolf brought a piece of meat from under the tree and placed it in front of him.

"Today is Christmas Eve, little one," said the leader. "There is one important law in our forest: on Christmas Eve, none of the wolves attack anyone. Neither strangers nor smaller ones. You will stay with us until you find your own. And when it gets warmer, we will help you return.".

Zimko didn't know how to thank him. He just whimpered softly. For the first time, it wasn't from sadness, but from something else.

Somewhere in the shade of the trees stood a tall old man in white and gold robes. He watched silently. He smiled. He didn't show himself - there was no need. The law of the forest worked by itself. And the law of the forest - also from him. Long ago he wrote it in the heart of the first wolf. It is still remembered.

Zimko lived with a strange, unfamiliar pack until spring. He hunted with them. He played with the wolf cubs. And when the snow began to melt, the leader himself led him across the river, over the mountains — to the northern forest. Zimko's mother found him. She pawed everything, howled, kissed. And Zimko turned around — looked after the gray leader. And he said to his mother: "You know, mother, we thought that strange wolves were evil. And they are also a family. Just different. Now I have two families. And that's good.".