As Misuk walked through the empty streets, her footsteps echoed on the cracked asphalt. Beside her, a towering Shire horse with dark brown coat and deep eyes softly neighed. Tension still coursed through his strong muscles, but there was something serene in his posture — as if the presence of the girl and the two chow-chows gave him strength to keep going.
But in the horse's eyes, there was more than physical pain. There was trauma, a dark reflection of a very recent past.
Flashback
Hours earlier, the Shire was grazing in an open field surrounded by a simple wooden fence. The wind swayed his thick, dark mane, and the clear sky was dotted with a few lazy clouds. Everything was calm.
Until a roar ripped through the sky. An orange flash exploded on the horizon. The ground trembled. Birds scattered in disorderly flocks. The horse raised his head abruptly, eyes wide, nostrils flared. A second later, panic took over his body.
The sound of explosions grew louder. With each bomb, the ground seemed to collapse. In a desperate surge, the horse smashed through the fence with a powerful kick and bolted.
He ran aimlessly, crossing streets where buildings crumbled like hollow shells, cars exploded, and clouds of dust filled the air. The Shire's hooves thundered against the concrete like living storms.
Then a crack pierced the air above him. A huge slab of concrete, detached from a building, fell toward him. The horse tried to leap, but it was too late.
The rock crushed his hind leg with a dry impact. He neighed in agony, falling on his side. His legs kicked the ground. Trapped. Vulnerable. Alone.
End of flashback
Now, beside Misuk, he limped with difficulty, but his eyes were fixed on her. In every gentle touch from the girl, there was a silent promise of safety.
Misuk, with light brown skin and straight black hair tied in a low ponytail, wore a worn denim jacket, brown cargo pants, and tall boots, dusty from the road. The two chow-chows, Snow and Faísca, walked close by. Snow, with his white coat and dark eyes, moved with elegant and alert posture. Faísca, caramel-colored and energetic, sniffed the ground, jumping from side to side with the nervous energy of one who senses danger.
Misuk glanced at the horse. Even without words, she felt it: he was a survivor. And just like her, the dogs, and that giant animal — they all carried invisible scars. But they were alive. And together.
Elsewhere in the city, the mood was tenser. Moon, 14 years old, stepped out of an old building, wiping sweat from her forehead with her forearm. She wore a loose lilac t-shirt, denim shorts with torn tights underneath, and worn-out sneakers. Her wavy hair was tied into two messy buns. She had a determined expression, despite the exhaustion.
— Peter, there's nobody here — she said with an irritated sigh.
Peter, her older brother, 17 years old, wore an open plaid shirt over a black tank top, ripped jeans, and sturdy boots. His light brown hair fell in messy strands over his forehead, and his eyes were always alert to the surroundings.
— What the hell, it's just us? — he muttered, kicking an empty can that rolled down the cracked sidewalk with a metallic clatter.
The silence around was oppressive. No sign of life, except for the two of them and the distant sound of the wind.
— Looks like it… — Moon replied, crossing her arms.
— Aish… — Peter ran a hand through his hair, frustrated.
Suddenly, Moon's eyes lit up.
— Look, Piti! How cute! — she exclaimed, pointing to a shadow among the rubble.
There, hiding between broken glass and wood, a small black cat with bright golden eyes watched them. Its fur was bristled and it meowed cautiously.
Peter crouched down slowly and extended his arms.
— Come here, little guy…
The kitten snuggled into his arms, meowing softly.
— He's so cute… — Peter murmured, a genuine smile appearing on his face for the first time in hours. — What should we call him?
Moon thought for a few seconds, stroking the little feline.
— Something strong, but cute. How about... Ash?
— Ash… — Peter repeated, looking into the cat's eyes, which responded with a soft meow. — Perfect.
They then followed the streets until, turning a corner overgrown with bushes and fallen signs, something emerged from the undergrowth. A large animal, white as snow, watched them.
— Wait a minute… — Peter stopped.
The wolf stepped out of the shadows with silent movements. Its silver, alert eyes intensely studied Peter. Its thick fur was smeared with soot, yet still majestic.
— Come here, buddy… — Peter extended his hand.
The wolf approached, allowing a touch on its head.
— Damn… can't carry you in my arms, huh? — he said, laughing.
Moon narrowed her eyes, surprised.
— A wolf, Peter? Seriously?
— Yep. Let's call him Frost.
The wolf slightly raised its snout, as if recognizing the name.
— Welcome to the pack, Frost. — Peter said.
Now there were four: two siblings, a black cat, and a white wolf. And the world felt a little less empty.