Matthew Smith lingered at home. He’d forgotten to prepare the salt the night before.
Autumn had already settled in, and with winter not far off, he needed to finish setting up the salt licks and prepare feeders for the animals. The wildfires had delayed him this year. The summer had been dry, and some youngsters had set fire to the grass a few times. Thankfully, the fires were spotted quickly, and the forest didn’t suffer much damage. But it caused a lot of hassle. In winter and early spring, the animals needed not only food but also plain salt. During the summer, the forester placed it in special feeders. He hoped to finish today, with only the farthest plot left to tend.
— Can’t let the hares down, — Matthew muttered to himself, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.
He hurried into the forest, heading straight for the distant salt licks. Afterward, he’d patrol the area at a leisurely pace. It was only early autumn, and the sun didn’t set too early, so he could take his time returning home and inspecting the forest. He’d stroll while the unusually warm September days lingered. Matthew laid out the salt and spotted a deer in the distance. He stood, admiring it. The deer, alert, watched the forester. It was scared, and rightly so—better not to get used to humans. Not everyone loved animals like Matthew did. He was against hunting.
He knew he couldn’t stop it, but whenever possible, he tried to protect the forest’s inhabitants. He despised traps most of all—they caused the animals immense suffering. By the time a hunter checked their catch, the animal would have endured agonizing pain. After freeing a she-wolf from a trap once, he started paying closer attention to such things. Sometimes he found traps hidden by hunters and removed them from the forest. In his five years as a forester, he’d grown to love both the forest and its creatures. He tried not to eat meat. He met many animals, looked into their eyes, and saw they understood everything. How could anyone say they had no soul? Some were wiser than certain people. There was a boar he called Bruiser.
He’d been friendly with Bruiser since last spring. Matthew always carried a small bag of feed, enjoying hand-feeding squirrels. If he met an animal, he’d treat it. Once, he gave Bruiser some acorns, and afterward, the boar often sought him out, expecting a treat. Matthew sometimes teased, saying he had nothing, but Bruiser would nod toward the bag, sensing food. You couldn’t fool the animal. A crack of branches nearby caught his attention, and Matthew looked around curiously to see who was scurrying about. He kept walking, glancing to the side, and tripped over a large root. Unable to keep his balance, he tumbled over it, rolling down a small slope littered with rocks. He bruised his sides, which ached but weren’t life-threatening. Feeling around, he laughed at his carelessness. Always gawking like a child.
He calmed down and tried to stand, but a sharp pain shot through his leg, making him whimper. When the pain eased, he tried to get up slowly. No luck—moving hurt too much. He tried relying on his other leg, but the pain radiated through his body. It must be a serious fracture. He couldn’t get out of here alone. There was likely no phone signal, and calling emergency services felt embarrassing. An experienced forester, and he’d messed up like this. He recalled his colleague, Andrew Wilson, mocking him:
— What kind of forester are you? You need strong men out there, and all you’re good for is teaching chess. You spent your life going from classroom to classroom, and now you’re supposed to cover hectares of forest. You should be retired, not wandering off. You’ll fall in some remote spot, and no one will find you.
Andrew had a sharp tongue, and even the kids didn’t like him for it. Always laughing at others’ mistakes.
Matthew brushed the thought aside. Fall? A forester doesn’t fall—he embraces the earth. He patted the grass, smiling. He saw the mishap as a chance to rest. Five years working in the forest, even during vacations. Where else would he go? Everything he needed was here—fresh air, nature. He could sit for a bit. But he needed to get home eventually. Matthew pulled out his phone, confirming there was no signal. He settled in as comfortably as he could, deciding to lie there and wait.
It was mushroom-picking season, so someone might pass by. He’d seen plenty of good mushroom spots earlier. Surely someone would wander through. But darkness fell, and no one came. To keep his spirits up, he recalled interesting stories from his life. He was 65 now, five years into his forester job, taken up right after retirement. Before that, he’d been a shop teacher at a school, running a chess club twice a week. Working with kids was a joy. He instilled a love for craftsmanship in them. If a teacher taught with passion, the kids showed interest. There were no bad kids—you could make a good person out of anyone with the right attention and approach. It was tough work, though, and not every teacher wanted to bother. Many just labeled kids as stupid if they didn’t grasp a subject.
But Matthew was persistent, determined to get results from every student. If one way didn’t work, he’d try another. There was a boy, Daniel, whose father died young, leaving his mother to raise him alone. All the teachers ganged up on him, telling his mother to send him to a boarding school, saying he’d never amount to anything. But Matthew took a liking to him, giving him extra help in class, asking him to assist during breaks, and secretly sharing new projects after school. They built a secret safe together. Daniel grew up and became a businessman, starting with furniture-making before expanding to open a small factory. What would his life have been like if no one had cared? Matthew smiled, remembering each of his students. Some visited after graduating, sharing their achievements. He would’ve kept teaching—age wasn’t an issue—but the principal replaced him with his nephew, fresh from college, hinting it was time for Matthew to retire. Never having started a family, Matthew saw no point in staying alone in the city. A friend called, saying they needed a forester in the countryside—why not try?
Proudly, he told his colleagues he was moving to the forest to work as a forester. The gym teacher mocked him, but that was in the past. Matthew didn’t regret leaving. He missed the kids at first, but the first year kept him busy. Besides his forestry duties, he fixed up his parents’ old house, built by his forester father. His parents had long passed, and no one had maintained the house. He’d only visited during vacations, but living there full-time was different. The house was aging—peeling wallpaper, cracks outside. There was plenty to do, no time to mope. Now, the roof needed repairs before winter. His leg throbbed, pulling him back to the present. He winced, tried to stand again, but failed. He reached into his bag, finding a few seeds left, and nibbled them to distract from the pain. Wolves howled in the distance.
He recalled the she-wolf caught in a trap. She’d growled, defending herself, when he approached. Matthew spoke softly, calming her, and noticed a wolf cub peeking out. No wonder she was so fierce. He sat, talking gently, until she relaxed. Carefully, he freed her paw. She and her cub fled, but the cub paused, looking back at him for a few seconds. Matthew noticed one of its ears was bitten off. He later saw the grown wolf several times. When he ventured deep into the forest, the wolf would approach from afar, watching. But he hadn’t seen it in the past year, hoping it was doing well and had simply forgotten him. Night deepened.
Matthew began to doze. Thoughts of past moments drifted in, hazy. In a dream, he saw his wolf. They sat in a clearing, Matthew reporting that he’d set out the salt licks and prepared for winter. The wolf nodded approvingly and licked his face. That woke him. Opening his eyes, he saw a wolf’s face before him. He tried to sit up, but his leg wouldn’t let him move. The wolf watched calmly. Matthew recognized it—the same wolf, with one ear missing. He smiled, looking into its eyes, thinking:
— My old friend’s alive. Good! I’m in a bit of trouble here, no help around. I’ll lie here till morning, maybe some mushroom pickers will show up.
The wolf, as if hearing his thoughts, stood silently, then turned and left. Matthew sighed, glad the wolf was alive. He wasn’t too worried about himself. If no mushroom pickers came, his bosses would raise the alarm and search for him. He wouldn’t be lost. He dozed again, but the pain in his leg woke him. He began to whimper like a wolf. Two hours passed, unable to sleep or stay awake. Then he heard a voice calling out. Matthew shouted back. Exchanging calls, his neighbor Brian approached. Brian lived nearby at his summer house, and they were good friends. In autumn, Matthew showed him the best mushroom spots. Seeing his friend in trouble, Brian called over another man—a visiting hunter staying nearby. They sent the hunter for help.
The hunter returned with his brother, bringing a cart. They loaded Matthew onto it and carried him to a car. While waiting for help, Brian, stumbling over his words from excitement, explained how he’d found Matthew in the forest at night. He’d been sleeping soundly when a strange unease woke him, as if someone were calling. He couldn’t understand it, chills running down his spine. Looking outside, he saw a huge wolf staring at him. At first, he was scared, but the wolf stepped away, looked back, and repeated this several times. Brian realized the wolf was leading him somewhere. Something was wrong—someone might be in danger. He ran to the hunter next door, woke him, and asked him to come along with his rifle for safety. The two followed the wolf, who led them to Matthew.
Matthew listened and wept. The wolf hadn’t forgotten that he’d saved it and its mother. It repaid him in kind. Animals had an astonishing sense of honor, repaying their debts. Matthew was taken to the hospital. Thankfully, they arrived in time—his fracture was complex, with damaged blood vessels and internal bleeding. He had to stay in the hospital for at least three weeks. He was upset, thinking he’d die of boredom, not bleeding, staring at the peeling ceiling with no sky, stars, or forest. But a young man, about eighteen, caught his attention. The boy, lying in traction, was glued to his phone, ignoring everyone. Fair enough—the ward was full of old men. Something about the boy intrigued Matthew. He decided to talk to him. The boy introduced himself as Ryan but was reluctant to chat, making it clear he wanted to be left alone.
That evening, an elderly woman visited Ryan, bringing jars of food. The smell of homemade soup made Matthew’s stomach rumble. Ryan grudgingly sipped a bit, grimaced, rummaged through the jars, pulled out a pastry, poured some kefir, and ate silently. Matthew felt awkward watching, but in a shared ward, you saw and heard everything. The woman gently scolded her grandson for being irresponsible. He only mumbled, brushing off her advice.
Matthew knew how to connect with kids. Feeling sorry for the woman, he approached Ryan after she left, striking up a conversation about life.
— I was like you, — he said. — My mom fussed over me, and I was embarrassed in front of friends when she packed me pastries. Now I’d give anything for one of her homemade treats, but she’s gone, and so are those friends. All I’ve got is hospital boiled water. You’re lucky to have family.
Ryan stayed silent. Later, he called Matthew over:
— Want some soup? I’m not eating it, and it’ll make my grandma happy if it doesn’t go to waste.
Matthew didn’t want to take the boy’s food, but Ryan insisted.
— Let’s play chess, — Matthew suggested. — If I win, the soup’s mine.
Ryan laughed, admitting he didn’t know how to play.
— No problem, I’ll teach you, — Matthew said.
He pulled out a travel chess set, sat by Ryan, and explained the rules. He won the soup. Then they played for porridge. Ryan was sharp but no match for a pro. Matthew, skilled at more than just winning, ensured Ryan ate the porridge. The boy perked up. That evening, Matthew shared stories of great chess players, their earnings, and how chess sharpens logic, memory, and analytical thinking. The next day, after Ryan’s grandma left, they played for pea soup and buckwheat with cutlets. This time, Matthew let Ryan win the soup, joking that his old spark was fading without worthy opponents. He shared the won cutlet. Within a week, Ryan was happily chatting with his grandma about life. As she left, a tear rolled down her cheek.
The three weeks weren’t boring. Ryan was nearly beating his teacher for real. They agreed to continue lessons via Skype. Matthew was discharged, but his leg hadn’t fully healed. Winter loomed, and the roof remained unfixed. His house lacked utilities—wood for the stove had to be carried from outside, water came from a well, and the toilet was outdoors. He couldn’t manage, especially with walking so difficult. His friend Brian returned to the city for winter, leaving no one to help. Work as a forester was out of the question. He could barely cross his yard, let alone hectares of forest. He had to return to the city. His small apartment, in a rough neighborhood, at least had everything he needed. Luckily, it was on the first floor—no elevator in the old five-story building.
Maybe by spring he’d recover and return to the countryside. For now, he had to survive the cold. He had a student now, a responsibility to see Ryan through to college and make his grandma proud. That soup deserved a son carrying her in his arms, Matthew chuckled to himself. As reluctant as he was to return to the city’s bustle, he had no choice. When Brian left his summer house, Matthew asked for a ride. That last night, he walked slowly into the forest with his feed bag, scattered nuts for the squirrels, and mentally said goodbye until spring.
As he left, he felt eyes on him. Turning, he saw two glowing wolf eyes behind the trees. Life goes on, the former forester smiled. Matthew, limping, approached his one-room apartment’s window. A layer of dust and a lone flowerpot with dry soil sat on the sill. He hurried to the hallway, rummaged in his bag, and pulled out a small tomato plant wrapped in a damp cloth. It had sprouted by chance in the yard, likely from a dropped seed. Matthew wasn’t a gardener—his attempts at growing things failed, his hand too “heavy.” Five years ago, a geranium from a neighbor died in that pot. But he couldn’t leave this tomato to freeze in the village. It was dear to him—his first grown vegetable, even if accidental. He’d dug it up and brought it along.
It would ease his longing for the forest. He’d found a winter task. He filled a glass with water and poured it into the pot. It felt strange that water came from a tap—no need to haul a bucket from a well. Hot water was there too. He’d unpack, clean up, maybe soak in a hot bath to wash off the grime. He laughed to himself, imagining his elderly neighbor, Grace, rushing over if she heard he’d returned. She’d tease that he wasn’t a forester but a wild man, unshaven and unwashed. He limped back to his bag, saw the tomato in his hand, and laughed again, realizing he’d forgotten to set it down. Why mope? He’d get through winter and return to the village by spring. Keep moving, and it’d heal. He made a hole in the pot with a fork and planted the tomato.
Though the apartment was small, cleaning it felt like tidying a mansion. Exhausted, Matthew skipped lunch, not hungry and lacking food. While cleaning, he found a bag of buckwheat in a kitchen cabinet—healthy enough. Brian had given him a pickled watermelon from his summer house. A fine bachelor’s dinner awaited. After a soothing bath, he cooked the buckwheat. As he sat with his plate, the doorbell rang. Unexpected guests—maybe a mistake. Opening the door, he saw Grace, his “young old lady,” as he fondly called her. Barely over sixty, she brimmed with youthful energy. Her presence carried the cozy scent of home, Matthew thought, his stomach growling—he hadn’t eaten since morning. Grace handed him a plate covered with a napkin. He laughed, realizing the aroma came from her. Wasn’t coziness measured in homemade pastries? Grace declined the buckwheat but shared her pastries. She’d seen his window lit, heard about his serious fracture, and knew he couldn’t manage alone in the village. Matthew felt ashamed. Before retiring, they’d been close, almost friends, but since becoming a forester, he hadn’t called. Yet Grace held no grudge, coming with pastries as always. He felt less alone. He continued chess lessons with Ryan via Skype and could chat with Grace about life.
Time would pass until his leg healed. Matthew stayed upbeat. His goals were for Ryan to get into college and become a great chess player, and to keep the tomato alive. Oh, and to return to the village. He sipped tea, gazing out the window, thinking it over. A car pulled up to the building, parking right by his window. He looked out—people often parked there, the lawn reduced to packed dirt. The driver entered the building. Matthew hurried to confront him but only caught a glimpse of boots disappearing upstairs.
Listening, he heard a door open above his apartment. Someone lived there. The place had always been rented out, tenants changing often—the neighborhood wasn’t great, and people hesitated to stay. He’d find out who lived there. Soon, he learned the apartment was bought by a local businessman and his wife, who ran a nearby grocery store and wanted to live close to their business. The man always parked on the lawn, and no one objected. A big guy with a shaved head, rumored to have served time, he intimidated neighbors. Grace said a young neighbor once complained about the car, only to be ambushed and beaten. The local cop just smiled at the man. Still, Matthew tried to defend the lawn.
The neighbor hinted he’d better watch his legs. Matthew, recalling his shop classes, crafted a small wooden fence. While the car was gone, he set it up, but the man knocked it down that evening. Matthew didn’t give up, stringing rope between trees daily. But it didn’t bother the neighbor, whose conscience remained clear. Instead, he grew angry, stomping loudly at night. Someone started leaving trash by Matthew’s door. He regretted getting involved. With his bad leg, hauling out others’ garbage was tough. Grace supported him, cleaning up after the troublemakers.
One day, shopping for a leaky faucet, he went to a cheaper store. At the checkout, someone called his name. Turning, he recognized his former student, Daniel. Now a distinguished man, Daniel was thrilled to see his teacher, saying his factory was thriving thanks to Matthew’s belief in him. Matthew brushed it off, embarrassed by the praise. Daniel, in a rush, asked for his address, promising to visit.
Matthew returned home elated. Seeing his students succeed made life worthwhile. But his joy faded at the building. Angry neighbors stood by his door, a trash bag nearby. They shouted, blaming him for cockroaches from “his” mess. The businessman’s wife joined in, hurling accusations. Matthew stood his ground, and she stormed off, scoffing. Two months into winter, his leg worsened, and he feared he wouldn’t recover by spring. Grace urged him to see a doctor, suggesting massage or other treatments. Convinced, he went. The news wasn’t good—a metal plate was needed, unaffordable on his pension. Physical therapy was prescribed, but it wouldn’t fix the issue. He took the referral but had no intention of going—daily hospital trips with a bad leg seemed laughable. He returned home glum.
Near the hospital, he saw a dog. It was cold, thin, short-haired, shivering by the steps. Feeling sorry for it, Matthew called it over. Fearless, it was likely abandoned. People take cute puppies, then ditch them when they grow. He brought the dog home. Clearly used to living outside, it whimpered pitifully. Neighbors turned against him, complaining about the noise. The dog, Rex, whined but would adjust. The shaved-head neighbor threatened to kill it. Grace, worried, urged Matthew to rehome Rex to avoid trouble. But he refused—how was he better than his cruel neighbors if he abandoned the dog?
Rex, already betrayed once, wouldn’t suffer again. Matthew wouldn’t betray him. Rex soon settled, stopping his whining. But neighbors complained about a dog smell, saying the building reeked. They mocked Matthew and began targeting Grace for helping him. They ignored the businessman’s litter and lawn-parking but lashed out at the elderly pair. Grace, a lifelong resident who’d faced down local thugs, shut them up. They backed off her but kept harassing Matthew over Rex. One day, walking Rex, the businessman arrived. Rex hated him, barking fiercely. Taking advantage of Matthew’s slow limp, the man grabbed Rex’s collar, trying to take him. A passerby intervened, helping return the dog. Matthew since avoided the neighbor, learning his schedule by watching his car.
Spring neared, and the former forester felt trapped in his apartment. Grace’s visits and Ryan’s chess progress—now beating him and entering city tournaments—kept him going. Ryan was preparing for college, determined to succeed. Matthew was sure he’d get in. Trying not to think of the village, Matthew went shopping one Saturday after his pension arrived. He left Rex home to avoid the neighbor. In the store, he hunted for bargains, clutching a budget list. Prices were higher than expected, so he lingered, seeking savings. He ran into Daniel again. This time, Daniel wasn’t rushed. He escorted Matthew to the checkout, paid for his groceries, grabbed the bags, and helped him to his car, insisting on driving him home despite protests. Two other men were in the car. The front passenger gave Matthew his seat, moving to the back. On the way, Daniel asked about retirement life. Matthew shared his struggles—forgetting the village, adopting Rex, the neighbors’ harassment, and the intimidating businessman. At the building, all the men got out. Neighbors on a bench gaped at the fancy car dropping off the old man. Daniel asked a friend to help Matthew to his apartment. With the other, he approached the neighbors, warning them to leave Matthew alone or face trouble. The businessman’s car was parked on the lawn, as usual. Daniel asked who owned it. The neighbors eagerly pointed out his apartment.
The men went to confront him. They were gone a while. Then the businessman ran out, jumped in his car, and drove off. Afterward, the neighbors stopped bothering Matthew. The businessman ceased parking on the lawn. Matthew and Grace began planting a flowerbed by his window. Daniel started visiting for tea, bringing groceries and refusing payment. He offered to take Matthew to a clinic, seeing his pain. Matthew agreed, hoping for good news. Since getting Rex, he’d started therapy—walking the dog doubled as exercise. The clinic staff knew him, watching Rex outside while he treated his leg. But a private clinic confirmed the need for an implant.
Thanking Daniel, Matthew said he’d keep limping. But Daniel insisted, arranging and paying for the surgery and rehab. Soon, Matthew walked confidently, pain-free. He didn’t know how to repay Daniel, who said Matthew had been a father figure, guiding him when he had only his mother. Daniel always looked up to him, learning life skills that led to his success. Now, he’d care for Matthew like family. Matthew wept all evening after that talk. Though things were better, the village called to him.
Knowing this, Daniel surprised him by renovating his village house, adding utilities. Matthew was speechless, overwhelmed by the cost. Daniel laughed, saying he’d found sponsors, helping a good man without going broke. Matthew didn’t pry—why question kindness? He asked to return to the city to tie up loose ends. He visited Grace, bringing croissants—Daniel said pastries were old-fashioned, so he went modern. He’d returned to congratulate Ryan on his college admission. Asking Daniel for gift ideas, he suggested a portable phone charger—useful for a student whose phone might die during late nights.
With Grace, Matthew discussed the future. As he left, he turned back:
— Why’d I come, anyway? Want to move to the village with me?
Grace laughed, winking. They moved together. Rex seemed happiest, trading a tiny apartment for a village and forest. The former forester soon saw his old friend in the woods—the wolf recognized him, even letting Rex near. The dog had a new friend. The tomato plant, sadly, didn’t survive the apartment.
Now Grace handled the gardening, with Matthew following her lead.
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