Lada stood over a giant rat—grotesque, with yellowed teeth and eyes like glass. Tatyana realized the truth: Lada hadn’t been dangerous… she’d been protecting them. The chickens, the growling, the shadows—warnings they’d failed to understand.
As winter deepened, the house grew darker. Dima woke screaming. Tatyana’s cough returned. Then one night, a window shattered inward—no cause, no explanation. Lada lunged at the invisible force, driving it back into the night.
Outside, Igor found massive, strange footprints leading into the forest. Next to them—Lada’s pawprints, following. Whatever had haunted them, she had chased it off.
Years passed. The house became warm. Dima thrived. A baby girl was born. Lada aged but remained watchful—until one morning, she didn’t wake. They buried her beneath the birch tree, where wildflowers bloom each spring. And sometimes, when the wind howls, Tatyana swears she hears soft paws… still guarding the ones she loved.