Chapter 86

Prologue, The God with a Child

You've heard of the term "sending wolf," right? In this village, it means something different.

Unlike the bad meaning used in the outside world, here it's something very kind and good.

We don't really know if it's an actual wolf.

After all, hardly anyone has seen it, and even if they have, it's usually just a glimpse of a leg or a tuft of fur.

Some say from afar it looked like an old woman with white hair like mine, others claim it was the leg of a strong wolf enduring winter—everyone has their own version.

We don't know what's true. It always appears on nights with terrible blizzards.

But one thing we can say is that it's the guardian god of children who come from the mountains.

Our village is surrounded by mountains on all sides, so from the end of autumn, snow starts to pile up. It's hard to believe now, but back then, children often got lost in sudden snowstorms while gathering firewood in the mountains.

When a child didn't come home by sunset, everyone would be anxious and unable to sleep.

Then, out of nowhere, you'd hear a voice like a wolf's howl, mixed in with the sound of the blizzard pounding against the heavy wooden doors.

When a parent rushed outside, they'd find their child right in front of the house.

They'd hurriedly pull the child inside, warm their frozen body by the hearth, and listen to their story—and every child said the same thing.

When they were lost in the snowy mountains, they started hearing a wolf's voice. Thinking it was coming to eat them, they ran, but ended up completely disoriented and stuck.

When they collapsed, completely exhausted, someone reached out a hand to them.

Some say it felt like the rough, chapped hand of a human woman, others say it felt like the paw of a silver-furred wolf.

When they took the outstretched hand and stood up, it pulled them forward with incredible strength. Even in blinding snow where you couldn't see an inch ahead, they never got lost.

And the whole time, they could still hear the wolf howling.

Then, before they knew it, they were standing in front of their house. When the frantic parent opened the door, the wolf's voice stopped—as if confirming the child had been safely returned.

Yes, it happened to me too.

It was when I got separated from my father, who was a hunter, in the winter mountains when I was still very young. That must have been over seventy years ago.

I don't remember it too clearly.

But I do remember that mysterious hand—cold yet warm—and the wolf's howl.

The warmth when my mother opened the door and hugged me, and my father returning at dawn after searching for me all night, crying for the first time—I remember those too.

Does it really matter what kind of god it is? It brings lost children back home and leaves without asking for thanks or even a word of gratitude.

That's the kind of god it is.