Emma rolled her eyes and rose from the young wolf's stomach. The chubby he-wolf looked as if he had strangely enjoyed the playful beating she had given him. She stretched out her right hand to help him stand, but his heavy pull dragged her balance away and she tumbled back onto him again.
"Ouch!!" she cried.
"I'm sorry," he whispered softly into her ear, his voice warm and strangely familiar as he held her head close to his face, almost like two young wolves who had known each other across many moons.
"Let go of me!" she shouted, striking his hand away. "You are so heavy! Please lose some weight!"
"I will… for you," he replied cheerfully as he climbed to his feet and brushed dry leaves from his loose trousers.
When he noticed a few specks of grass on her shorts, he tried to brush them away. Emma instantly shoved his hand aside.
"I was only trying to help you," he said with innocent sincerity.
"I don't need your help! Delete that picture right now! I mean right here while I'm looking at you!"
"Please," he pleaded gently, tilting his head while his rare golden eyes fixed deeply on hers.
His gaze seemed to drink in her presence, and Emma suddenly lowered her eyes.
"Fine," she muttered sarcastically before returning to her usual place beneath the willow tree.
Yet the he-wolf remained standing, watching her quietly.
Emma sat down and glanced up again, surprised he had not moved. She frowned and stared back at him.
"What?"
"Thank you," he said, smiling brightly as he waved at her.
Emma did not smile back. Instead she lifted her novel close to her face, pretending to read while secretly peeking at him from behind the pages.
After a moment she lowered the book again and watched him walk away happily—like a young wolf who had just found unexpected treasure.
There was something about his voice and scent that lingered in her mind. It carried a soothing warmth, like a gentle summer wind moving through forest leaves.
Emma suddenly regretted striking such a gentle soul.
Part of her quietly hoped he would return again… so she could apologize.
Tears slowly filled her eyes as she watched his figure disappear along the park path.
She could no longer read the book resting in her hands. Strange emotions stirred deep inside her chest.
After tying the lace of her white sneakers, she slowly walked back toward her pack.
By the time she reached the pack house, she forced herself to forget everything that had happened and buried herself in household chores.
The next Saturday arrived quickly.
As usual, Emma dressed simply and walked toward the territory park located about two hundred and fifty meters from her home.
She enjoyed the peaceful path beneath the tall trees lining the road, their branches forming a quiet canopy over the morning trail.
She reached the park at the same time as always and settled beneath her favorite willow tree.
Completely unaware, a quiet figure crept softly behind her.
Suddenly a hand covered her eyes.
Emma jumped to her feet, dropping her book in shock.
"Oh… my moon goddess!!! You again!!" she exclaimed angrily.
"I'm sorry," the he-wolf said with a sheepish smile. "I didn't mean to scare you."
Emma huffed and walked back to her spot, picking up her book again.
He sat beside her, gazing peacefully toward the distant mountains and tall trees stretching along the horizon.
"What are you doing here again?" she asked casually when he lowered his backpack.
He unzipped the bag and pulled something out carefully.
Emma did not even bother looking at what he held.
"I made this for you," he said gently as he unfolded a sheet of drawing paper.
Emma reluctantly took the paper and looked down.
Her eyes widened.
It was a beautiful hand-drawn painting—her own portrait.
The resentment she had carried instantly melted away, and an uncontrollable smile spread across her face.
She looked at him with surprised delight.
Seeing the joy in her eyes, the he-wolf slowly moved a little closer.
Despite the distance between them shrinking, Emma did not move away.
"Do you like it?" he asked, smiling like a young wolf who had just fulfilled his greatest dream.
Emma nodded happily.
"It's for you," he said softly, sliding the painting toward her.
Emma kept staring at the drawing with wonder.
She remembered how sad she had felt when he left the previous Saturday, and somehow that exact emotion seemed captured inside the mooncraft.
But after staring at the painting for a long time, her smile slowly faded.
Her mood shifted again.
Seeing the sudden sadness, the he-wolf leaned closer and gently lifted her chin so their eyes met.
Emma leaned against the tree trunk, her emotions tangled between confusion and fear.
He glanced at the drawing again and then back at her face, clearly puzzled by the sudden change in her expression.
Still, he hesitated to ask too many questions.
After all, they were barely more than strangers.
"What is it?" he asked softly after a few quiet moments.
"The painting is beautiful," Emma murmured. "But… I'm sorry, I can't take it."
"Why?"
"N… nothing," she replied quickly, blinking several times.
She bent down and began tying her shoelace again, avoiding his eyes.
She packed her novel into her backpack and slung it over her shoulder, sniffing quietly like a little pup fighting tears.
The he-wolf carefully folded the drawing and slipped it back into his bag.
"I… I didn't mean to…"
"You didn't," Emma interrupted quickly as she stood up.
He gently grabbed her hand, trying to stop her from leaving.
Emma pulled away instantly and hurried down the path.
The he-wolf stood there for a moment before chasing after her.
"I'm sorry," he called from behind.
Emma ignored him and continued walking toward the main road.
Eventually the he-wolf slowed down, shrugged quietly, returned to retrieve his backpack, and began walking southward.
Meanwhile Emma continued down the road, tears rolling down her cheeks.
Seeing the drawing had revealed something she had been trying desperately to hide about herself.
For years she had tried everything possible to appear small and unnoticed, hoping Mrs. Nazar would reject her and never call her back to Springfield Territory.
She often walked with her shoulders lowered, trying to make herself less noticeable.
But the drawing had shown her clearly—far more clearly than she had ever seen herself.
Passersby noticed the young wolf crying along the roadside and asked what had happened.
Emma said nothing.
Her father had warned her never to reveal the truth if she ever wished to see her blood parents again.
And that longing was stronger than anything.
So Emma sealed her lips in silence.