Everyone in the village knew Grandfather Marko as a quiet, gentle man. He lived at the edge of the forest, in a small wooden house with a sloping roof and a garden he tended carefully every morning. His beard was white, his hands were rough from decades of honest work, and his eyes carried a calm wisdom that made people feel safe just by standing near him. He spoke little, but when he did, his words mattered.

Marko had lived near the forest his entire life. He understood its rhythms, its dangers, and its unspoken rules. He respected nature, never taking more than he needed, and in return, the forest seemed to accept him as one of its own. Deer often grazed near his garden at dawn, birds nested in the old oak behind his house, and even the foxes kept their distance, sensing something steady and unthreatening about him.

One cold autumn afternoon, Marko was chopping wood behind his house when he heard a sound that didn’t belong.

A sharp, frightened cry echoed through the trees.

He stopped immediately, axe still in his hands, and listened. The sound came again—panicked, desperate. It wasn’t human. Marko knew the forest well enough to recognize the call.

Without hesitation, he set the axe aside and grabbed his old coat. He moved quickly despite his age, following the sound deeper into the forest. The ground was damp with fallen leaves, and the air smelled of earth and pine. Each step took him farther from the safety of his home and closer to something dangerous.

A young deer had stumbled into a narrow clearing, its leg tangled in thorny brush. It struggled to pull free, its eyes wide with terror. Circling slowly around it was a large gray wolf. Its fur was dark and matted, its movements deliberate and cold. This was no ordinary wolf driven only by hunger. This wolf had been terrorizing the outskirts of the village for weeks, killing livestock and attacking anything that strayed too far from shelter.

The wolf’s head snapped toward him, teeth bared. Its eyes locked onto Marko, assessing him. An old man was not an obvious threat, but something about Marko’s calm presence made the wolf hesitate.

“Go on,” Marko said quietly, his voice steady. “There’s nothing for you here.”

The wolf snarled, taking a step closer.

Marko raised his walking stick—not as a weapon, but as a boundary. He planted it firmly into the ground between himself and the animal. His heart was beating fast, but his face remained calm. He knew fear would only make things worse.

For a long moment, man and wolf stared at each other.

Then the wolf lunged.

Marko reacted instantly. He slammed the stick against a nearby tree, the sharp crack echoing through the forest. Birds burst into the air, and the sudden noise startled the wolf just enough to break its focus. It skidded to a stop, confused, uncertain.

Marko took advantage of the moment.

He stepped forward again, making himself look larger, swinging the stick wide, striking branches and leaves. He shouted now—not in panic, but in command. The sound was deep and powerful, carrying through the clearing.

The wolf backed away, growling, clearly torn between hunger and caution. Finally, it turned and disappeared into the trees, melting back into the shadows of the forest.

The animal was trembling uncontrollably, its chest rising and falling rapidly. Blood had been drawn where the thorns dug into its leg. Slowly, carefully, Marko approached, speaking softly so as not to frighten it further.

He knelt down with effort, gently working the thorny branches loose. The deer flinched at first, but Marko’s touch was calm and sure. After several minutes, the leg was free. The wound wasn’t deep, but it would need time to heal.

It stood there, breathing heavily, watching Marko with wide, dark eyes. He wrapped the leg with a strip of cloth torn from his handkerchief, doing what he could. When he finally stepped back, the deer took a few careful steps, testing its leg.

Marko made his way home slowly, his hands still shaking from the adrenaline. That night, he slept poorly, listening to the distant howls echoing through the forest. But he felt no regret.

The next morning, the village buzzed with news.

Someone had seen the wolf retreating deeper into the forest. Someone else had found blood near the clearing but no sign of a kill. Word spread quickly, and before long, people were standing outside Marko’s house, asking questions.