eaves drifted endlessly through the forest.

  A woman moved between the trees, a pack on her back, a bow and arrows secured, a blade resting at her waist. She had been walking for a long time—long enough for her clothes and hair to be dusted with the small yellow flowers that bloomed only in autumn.

  Still, she did not stop.

  Today, she needed to find the medicinal herbs required for her task.

  As she walked, the forest suddenly opened before her.

  A small field of flowers spread out ahead—delicate, translucent blossoms that shimmered faintly under the light. According to fragments recorded in old pages left behind by those before her, these flowers were essential for treating wounds caused by weapons and tools. Whether the injury was external or internal, these blossoms were needed as the catalyst.

  What made them remarkable was their rarity. They grew only on this land.

  And so, the village of Anda had settled here generations ago—perhaps not only to live, but to guard these flowers. Without the pages preserved in the Anda Temple, people suffering from injury and illness might still be waiting for shamans to rediscover a cure.

  The woman set down her pack and took out a small knife she had prepared in advance. Carefully, she harvested the blossoms and placed them into a vine-woven box inside her bag.

  Everything felt routine.

  And yet—something felt off.

  She smiled faintly and shook her head, brushing away the uneasy sensation like a passing illusion.

  “Whine… whine… whine—”

  A sound she had never heard before reached her ears. It was sharp, thin… and pitiful.

  She froze, listening closely.

  But the sound vanished.

  “Must be my imagination,” she muttered, lowering her head to continue her work.

  “Whine… whine… whine—”

  This time, there was no doubt.

  She frowned, blinking in resignation.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “Alright. If I’ve run into it, then I suppose it’s something I’m meant to deal with. Honestly…”

  She returned the flower box to her pack and stood, carefully stepping toward the sound. She avoided the roots of the flower field—these plants were far too precious to damage.

  Gently parting the leaves that blocked her view, she finally saw the source.

  A bundle of fur?

  A dog? A cat?

  The small, furry head lifted, meeting her gaze. Those deep blue eyes immediately caught her attention.

  “Your eyes are beautiful, little one,” she said softly. “Where’s your mother?”

  A breeze passed through.

  The creature startled, retreating clumsily—but it could only move so far. That was when she noticed it: a deep gash on its hind leg. Blood glistened darkly, the sheen unmistakable. A wound caused by a tool or weapon.

  The creature stared at her warily and blinked.

  “Whine…”

  There was something like tears in its eyes.

  She scratched her head and looked around. If its mother were nearby, surely she would have appeared by now.

  She hesitated.

  Truthfully, she wanted to go home and rest. She had no desire to involve herself in trouble like this. But if she left now and the mother never returned, the wound would fester. The flesh would darken and rot, and that leg would likely be lost.

  And if the young one was injured… then its mother had probably met trouble as well.

  If she encountered her, she might as well bring them both back. Medicine would be needed either way.

  She sighed quietly.

  “I won’t hurt you,” she said gently. “I’ll move back a little and wait. If your mother comes for you, I’ll leave. If not… come home with me. I can ask the shaman to prepare medicine.”

  She stepped back and sat on a stone, resting her cheek in her palm, waiting to see whether things would change.

  Time passed slowly.

  The wind brushed through the field. Flowers swayed. Birds sang. Butterflies fluttered nearby. She found her mood lifting—perhaps an unexpected detour like this wasn’t so bad after all.

  Before she realized it, the sun had shifted, its light creeping closer to where the small creature lay.

  “Alright,” she said, standing and brushing dust from her clothes. “I can’t wait any longer.”

  She walked toward it again.

  After she told it she would wait and meant no harm, it hadn’t cried out again. As if it had understood her words.

  Was that the will of all living things?

  It was large—dog-sized. The village had big dogs too, even pups, but this one felt… different.

  She shook her head.

  “Overthinking it won’t change anything. I’ll need to take you home to recover for a while. Please stay calm. Don’t resist.”

  She sighed.

  The creature lay with its eyes closed now, but its rapid breathing betrayed the pain it was enduring.

  She reached out, gently touching its head with her fingertips.

  It opened its eyes—not afraid anymore. Instead, it stared straight at her.

  “I… I’m going to carry you home. Is that alright? Please don’t bite me. I’m used to getting hurt, but I’d really rather not add new wounds if I can help it.”

  She stepped back slightly, hands open, waiting.

  The creature blinked. Tilted its head. Sniffed her palms.

  Then, carefully, it lowered its head into her joined hands.

  An answer.

  She exhaled in relief. Thankfully, it hadn’t taken long.

  Avoiding the injured leg, she lifted it carefully and placed it into a makeshift cloth sling, securing it at her side.

  “Come on,” she murmured. “Let’s get you healed.”

  Nothing remarkable—yet somehow perfectly timed.

  That was the moment I met Veyra.

  To be honest, I never planned to keep her.

  But again and again, she chose to stay by my side.

  Why?

  I still don’t quite understand.