Chapter Two

Svetlana knelt and ran her hands through their thick coats. She knew she could not linger; every minute brought the Gulag guards closer to organizing search parties. “I have to go,” she whispered.

She turned and began marching south toward the distant Altai Mountains, aiming for the Kazakh border and true freedom beyond Soviet territory. But as she took her first dozen steps through the deep snow, she heard the crunch of soft paws behind her. The two wolves were trotting right at her heels.

Svetlana stopped, turned, and waved her arms. “Go back! Return to your den!”

The wolves halted, cocked their heads in unison, and sat in the snow, staring at her with wide, intelligent amber eyes.

When Svetlana resumed walking, they fell into step behind her once more. After three failed attempts to send them home, Svetlana accepted the inevitable. They were a pack now.

However, traveling with two rapidly growing apex predators presented a daunting challenge: feeding three hungry mouths in the middle of a Siberian winter. While Svetlana could forage for palatable roots, pine nuts, and edible bark beneath the snow layer, her canine companions required fresh meat. The few strips of cured meat Grego had left her would not last two days if shared equally.

By the third day of their trek into the rugged foothills of the Altai range, Svetlana witnessed her companions hunt for the first time.

The two white wolves caught the scent of a wild mountain antelope herd drifting down from a high ridge. Sniffing the freezing air, they dropped low and began tracking the herd through the pine thickets. Svetlana ran after them, her small boots crunching in the crusty snow, but she could not match their speed.

Reaching a rocky outcrop overlooking a wide meadow, Svetlana watched the hunt unfold. The wolves darted across the white expanse, driving the herd into deep snow drifts. A straggling antelope stumbled, and in an instant, both wolves pounced. The kill was swift and silent.

Instead of tearing into the carcass immediately, the young wolves stood over their prey and looked back toward the ridge, waiting for Svetlana just as they once waited for their mother.

Svetlana scrambled down the ridge. Drawing the sharp six-inch hunting knife Grego had given her, she slit the animal’s throat to drain the blood properly. Next, she carefully skinned the hide, knowing she could dry and cure it into a warm winter cloak. She removed the internal organs and tossed them to the wolves, who devoured the delicacy eagerly.

Using her blade, Svetlana carved the remaining meat into neat, portable strips. The sub-zero Siberian air served as a natural freezer, preserving the meat for the journey ahead. This single hunt secured their food supply for the next week.

That evening, beneath the shelter of an overhang, Svetlana built a small campfire using her flint stones and dry pine needles. At first, the wolves backed away, their primal instincts wary of the leaping flames. But with soft, encouraging words, Svetlana coaxed them closer until they settled beside the warmth.

Over the past days, she had given them names that matched their distinct personalities. Both had brilliant, snow-white coats that blended seamlessly into the winter landscape, but the larger male bore a striking black, crescent-shaped marking across his forehead. She named him Chimera. The slightly smaller, sleeker female responded to Aspera.

A week into their trek, under the cover of a pitch-black night, Svetlana spotted a faint yellow light gleaming in the distance.

Leaving Chimera and Aspera hidden in a pine grove with strict instructions to stay put, Svetlana crept toward the light. She discovered an isolated mountain farmstead consisting of a timber farmhouse and a large, weathered barn.

As she slipped past the barn door to scout the area, a muffled whimper caught her attention.

Svetlana paused, her hand instinctively resting on the hilt of her knife. Slinking into the dim, shadow-draped barn, she spotted a small figure curled up in a corner on a bed of dirty straw. It was a young girl—roughly Svetlana’s age—shivering violently beneath a threadbare blanket that offered no defense against the creeping frost.

Svetlana stepped forward softly. “Don’t be afraid,” she murmured, kneeling beside the trembling child. “I won’t hurt you. Why are you sleeping out here in the barn when there is a warm house up front?”

The girl looked up, her face pale and stained with frozen tears. Between raspy sobs, she gasped out her story. “My… my mother died last year,” she wept. “My stepfather, Igor, brought home a new wife. They live in the house… they banished me out here to the cold. They only let me inside during the day to clean up their messes and fetch firewood.”

A fiery wave of righteous indignation flared within Svetlana—the same burning anger she felt watching the Gulag guards torment the weak.

“My name is Svetlana,” she said gently, placing a warm hand on the girl’s shivering shoulder. “What is yours?”

“Olga,” the girl whispered, drawing comfort from the confident stranger.

“Well, Olga, your mistreatment ends tonight,” Svetlana said, her voice dropping into a tone of quiet, steel authority. “We will wait here until morning, and then I will put a permanent end to your stepfather’s abuse.”

Svetlana turned toward the open barn door and let out a low, pitch-perfect whistle into the night wind. “Chimera! Aspera! To me.”

Two large white shapes glided through the darkness, stepping silently into the barn. Sensing an unfamiliar human, their ears flattened, and low growls vibrated in their chests.

“Quiet,” Svetlana commanded firmly. “Olga is a friend.”

Instantly, the wolves quieted. Chimera stepped forward, sniffed Olga’s tear-stained cheek gently, and then curled up on the straw beside her, sharing his massive body heat. Aspera took up position by the barn door, watching the yard like a silent sentinel.

At dawn, heavy boots crunched through the frozen mud outside. The barn door swung open violently, letting in the blinding morning light.

“Olga! You lazy brat, get up!” a harsh female voice shrieked. “It’s time to scrub the stove and fetch the water!”

Svetlana signaled for Olga to stay behind her in the shadows. As Igor and his new wife stepped into the barn, they froze in terror. Standing in the middle of the aisle were two massive white wolves, their lips curled back to reveal gleaming, knife-sharp fangs.

“Chimera, Aspera—hold,” Svetlana commanded calmly from the darkness.

The wolves held their ground, muscles tense and ready to spring, but refrained from attacking.

Igor, a thick-set man with red eyes and a greasy beard, backed up a step, clutching his wife’s shawl. “Who… who are you?” he stammered. “What are you doing on my land?”

Svetlana stepped into the sunlight, her small frame radiating a terrifying calm. “I am Svetlana. These are my protectors, and I am taking Olga away from this place.”

“You can’t do that!” the stepmother squawked, though she shrank back as Aspera let out a bone-chilling hiss. “By what right do you enter our home and threaten us?”

A cold, menacing smile touched Svetlana’s lips. “She is no longer your slave. If either of you moves so much as a finger, I will release my wolves, and they will tear you apart where you stand. Do you understand me?”

Igor swallowed hard, all his bravado evaporating under the steady, golden gaze of the beasts. “Yes… understood,” he squeaked.

“Chimera, Aspera—watch them,” Svetlana ordered. “If they move, strike.”

Leaving the terrifying wolves to hold the couple hostage, Svetlana turned to Olga. “Come. Let’s go into the house and gather your things. You are coming with me.”

Olga did not hesitate. Inside the farmhouse, she packed her few warm clothes into a burlap sack. Then, she led Svetlana to a heavy oak cabinet in the master bedroom.

“My mother left her family jewelry and savings hidden here before she died,” Olga whispered. “They stole it all from her.”

“It is your rightful inheritance,” Svetlana said simply.

Using her hunting knife, Svetlana pried open the wooden panel, revealing a velvet pouch filled with family heirlooms and a thick stack of banknotes totaling 41,000 roubles—a fortune in rural Russia.

Mounted on the wall above the cabinet hung a beautifully crafted hunting rifle with a carved walnut stock and a box of ammunition. Svetlana unhooked the rifle, checked the bolt mechanism with practiced ease, and slung it over her shoulder.

“A disarmed enemy is a safe enemy,” Svetlana remarked.

Returning to the barn, Svetlana glared at the trembling couple. “Olga has taken her mother’s jewelry and money as her rightful inheritance. I am taking this rifle as payment for my services. Do not attempt to follow us. If we meet again, it will end very badly for you.”

With a sharp whistle, Svetlana summoned Chimera and Aspera. The four companions turned and marched out of the farmstead, quickly disappearing over the snow-covered hills toward the south.

As they trekked toward the Kazakhstan border, Olga revealed her full name: Olga Beridze. She explained that her biological father, a respected local mechanic, had been mysteriously murdered two years prior. His killers were never caught, and her grieving mother had hastily married Igor for financial security—a decision that cost her everything.

Three days into their journey, as the terrain grew rocky and sparse, Chimera suddenly stopped and raised his snout to the icy wind. His ears twitched back, and Aspera joined him, letting out a low, warning whine.

In the far distance, carried across the crisp winter air, came the unmistakable, faint baying of tracking hounds.

Svetlana’s eyes narrowed. Her warning had gone unheeded.

Furious over the loss of the rifle, the 41,000 roubles, and his domestic slave, Igor had spun a perverted tale of robbery to his neighbors. Promising to divide the massive sum of 41,000 roubles among anyone who helped him track down “the thieving wild girl,” he had recruited five heavily armed neighboring farmers.

Mounted on sturdy winter horses and leading two vicious hunting dogs, the six-man posse had made rapid progress through the snow.

A half-mile behind Svetlana’s group, Igor reined in his horse at the crest of a ridge. Unslinging a brass spyglass, he raised it to his eye and adjusted the focus. Through the lens, the image snapped into sharp clarity: two young girls walking through the valley, flanked by two giant white wolves.

A cruel grin spread across Igor’s face. “Found you,” he muttered, signaling his men to draw their weapons.