The puppy lies next to the decomposed body of its mother dog.

The village of Pikesake was still shrouded in smoke after the riot. Amid the ruins, a tiny puppy curled up beside the decaying body of his mother. His dark eyes glimmered with sorrow, as if his world had collapsed with her death.

On the first day, a poor villager passed by, carrying nothing more than a piece of dry bread. He crouched down, placing it gently in front of the pup.
“Eat… don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.”

But the puppy trembled, pressing himself tightly against his mother’s lifeless form. When the man edged closer, the pup bolted, tail tucked, leaving the man sighing helplessly.

The next day, he came again. The same sight awaited him: the puppy by his mother’s side. Patiently, he laid down food and sat at a distance. This time the pup did not flee, only watched him warily. But when the man reached out a hand, the pup panicked, lunging forward to bite, leaving a small wound that bled on the man’s hand. The pup retreated, shaking. The man did not grow angry; he simply pulled back his hand and whispered with a sad smile:
“I understand… you’re still afraid.”

Day after day, he returned. He sat for hours, speaking softly, bringing scraps of food and water. He accepted the bites, the suspicion, in exchange for even a flicker of trust.

But the puppy grew weaker. His fur was ragged, his legs trembled—he was sick, thinner with each passing day. The man grew more worried. He knew that if the puppy stayed beside his mother’s corpse, he would not survive.

One evening, as the sun set red across the village, the pup collapsed, too weak to resist. The man gently scooped him up. This time, the little body only quivered in his arms without fighting back. The man carried him home, rushing to a nearby veterinarian for treatment.

In the days that followed, thanks to medicine and tender care, the puppy slowly recovered. His once-clouded eyes grew brighter, and his frail legs began carrying him joyfully among the village children.

From that day on, the puppy no longer lay beside his mother’s remains. He had found a new home. And sometimes, in the quietest moments, he would return to the man, pressing his head against the very hand that once bled because of him—as a silent thank-you.

Amid the dust and ruin of the village, a fragile life and a grieving man had found each other. Both had suffered loss, but from that loss, they became family.