Get out!” the man shouted, picking up a stick and swinging it. Graf cowered to the ground, froze for a moment, and then, realizing he was not welcome here, leapt up and ran toward the forest.
Rain was falling, cold drops piercing the shelter of branches under which Graf had taken cover. His fur was soaked; he shivered from time to time, trying to preserve what little warmth remained. His stomach twisted with hunger—he hadn’t eaten since yesterday. Hunger had become a familiar feeling, though there were lucky days when he managed to catch a mouse or find something edible.
