The snow was falling gently from the sky, drifting cautiously over the shoulders of the small child in the night after the people had fled to their homes seeking warmth. With his wide, wandering eyes, he watched them and listened to the sound of doors closing on every street. The place wasn't too dark—the streetlights were enough for him to see the ground beneath his feet clearly.
His hair was a pale blond, bleached nearly white, swept back in a way that suggested he'd been to a barber to style it (though he had never been to a barber and wouldn't know what one was if asked). His eyes were like blue-tinted glass. He wore tattered rags—an oversized shirt not meant for his age and trousers too small, revealing his thin legs like fragile twigs as he walked in a crouched position, trying to trap as much warmth as he could.
'Where should I go? Where does this road lead?' The child wondered innocently as he walked at a painfully slow pace for a boy his age, carefully avoiding small branches and sharp stones beneath his bare feet so he wouldn't bleed. How he hated it when his feet bled—it burned, it hurt, and it wouldn't stop for a long time.
"Ah!" The child suddenly stopped, placed both small hands on his face, and announced loudly, as if addressing an imaginary crowd: "I know where this road leads! It leads home! Yes, yes, that's right…" He kept repeating the words, as if convincing himself of his conclusion.
Then he walked and walked until his feet grew numb from the cold ground. He decided to sit behind a tree at the edge of the road and soon curled up, falling into a deep sleep as only a child like him could. He barely moved in his slumber, his small face as white as the snow around him—so much so that he could have been mistaken for a painted figure.
The child woke in the morning to the sound of hooves clattering against the ground as horses pulled morning carriages, their noise loud enough to be heard for miles by anyone with their ear to the earth. He stretched his arms and shook his head instinctively to shake off the lethargy. Though he hadn't slept enough, he cheerfully greeted the fast-moving horses and thanked them for waking him, smiling as if he were the happiest child in the city. He had always been smiling, loving everything—the sun and the warm day, the moon and the quiet night, even the people who avoided him as if he were an insect.
And the forest outside the city—how he loved it! Whenever he felt hungry, like this morning, he would pick wild berries from its bushes, staining his lips shades of purple and deep pink. But most importantly, there was the river. The river where he drank pure, cold water that soothed his throat without anyone yelling at him to leave. He had grown accustomed to the animals—squirrels, deer, and birds—learning to move quietly so as not to disturb them. They, in turn, had grown used to his presence, no longer fleeing when he passed by the riverbank or wandered through the woods.
After quenching his thirst and filling his stomach with fruit, the child decided to continue his journey down the road home. That phrase echoed in his mind with every step he took on the cobbled path.
The passersby ignored him mechanically, and he, in turn, avoided bumping into them. He didn't like the loud voices that screamed at him if he accidentally got in their way. Even if he kept smiling and didn't fight back, he would still receive a kick without any hope of resistance. He believed—no, he was certain—that somewhere among these adults, there had to be his parents. He couldn't misbehave in front of them. No, he had to show them he was a good boy and say: "I'm a good child, can I come home with you? I won't cause any trouble, so please don't send me away."
But what was home? He didn't know. He couldn't remember it, though he was sure he had lived in one. It must have been warm, full of delicious food, and most importantly—his parents would be there, happy with him because he was well-behaved. And well-behaved children don't get kicked out of home.
Today, the road was unbelievably crowded. People hurried past, carrying boxes and large bags, talking excitedly in a way the child had never seen before. He tried to listen to a plump fruit vendor, catching only: "This Bright Day is definitely a day for making money, heh heh. I wonder why they don't just—" before his voice was drowned out by a sudden uproar as luxurious carriages arrived from all directions. The child couldn't hear the rest of the vendor's words to understand the reason for the commotion. He liked figuring things out on his own because he had no one to ask when questions arose. But today was Bright Day, a special occasion when all the vendors made a lot of money, people enjoyed themselves, and crowds gathered—and that was enough to make him happy too.
The boy wandered happily among the crowd, trying to catch glimpses of the rich people in their fine clothes, colorful dresses, and ridiculous hats. He tried to memorize every sight he saw—one didn't get to see wealthy people in their splendor every day. He also noticed an unusually large number of black-clad security guards with wide belts holding swords.
He found a spot to sit on a high stairway where he could watch the procession without bothering anyone. But then, suddenly, he heard crying—soft, choked sobs coming from behind him. He climbed down the other side of the stairs and followed the sound to a closed wooden barrel with a small circular opening at the top.
"I think the sound is coming from here," he whispered, pressing his ear to the barrel. Then he knocked sharply on it—a piercing scream echoed from inside, startling him back. His eyes widened in surprise. He jumped onto the barrel to inspect it, and another shriek rang out, this time accompanied by muffled sobs.
Peering through the opening, his eyebrows shot up when he realized there was a little girl curled up inside, crying. He smiled faintly and said in an optimistic voice: "Don't be afraid, I'll get you out now." The girl lifted her head silently, sniffling.
The boy hurried to the nearest tree on the sidewalk, climbing it with a practiced ease that suggested he'd done so many times before. He broke off a small branch with a few leaves and rushed back to the barrel. Staring inside, he saw the girl looking up at him as if waiting. He smiled again and stepped back. He wedged one end of the branch into the opening and angled the longer end outward. Then, backing up toward the stairs, he jumped onto the branch—the lid flew open, and he landed hard on the ground, his tailbone aching. No matter—the barrel was open.
He reached inside, and the girl weakly grabbed his hand. With some effort, he pulled her out. She sat crying bitterly, and he was stunned when he saw her fine clothes and elegant appearance. He quickly deduced: She's been kidnapped. He grabbed her hand and led her to the sidewalk, noticing how she obeyed without resistance. Her constant crying bothered him a little.
Smiling, he said: "Don't cry. The road always leads home."
Her voice trembled from crying: "What? But my home isn't here."
"Don't worry, we'll find someone who knows where your home is," he said, smiling wider. She smiled back at his optimism.
After a few minutes, the girl asked: "My name is Anna Benthan. What's yours?"
"Hello, Anna. My name is… my name is…" The child stopped walking, lost in deep thought. Then he fell silent, staring straight ahead.
My name… my name… The child kept thinking, turning the word over in his mind. People had names, or at least titles they were known by. But he had never heard anyone call him anything except "wretched" or "street rat." Were those names? Of course not.
In the distance, a stern-faced security guard was barking orders. The boy hurried toward him, tugging on his pants to get his attention. The guard turned, looking bewildered—then his eyes widened when he saw the girl.
"She's here!" he shouted. Within seconds, a group of guards had surrounded them. They snatched Anna from the boy's hand, overjoyed to have found her. The child took advantage of the commotion and slipped away, disappearing into the crowd.
From afar, he watched as they handed her over to who he assumed was her mother—yes, they had the same almond-shaped eyes and long brown braids. Anna was crying hard, and her noble mother held her tightly. Beside them stood a tall, imposing man shaking the guard's hand warmly—he must have been her father.
The boy turned and walked in the opposite direction of the crowd. He wasn't interested in seeing the rich, the nobles, or the knights—his mind was elsewhere.
"My name…" he muttered as he walked, kicking small pebbles on the roadside. This wasn't the first time he'd heard the word name from a stranger. A sudden gust of wind nearly knocked him over. Wind. Name. Snow. And a man in a long black coat.
A distant yet vivid memory flashed in his mind—a night of howling winds and swirling snow, a tall man in a long black coat and a hat covering his eyes, kneeling and speaking softly:
"Matteo."
The man repeated it. "Matteo is your name. Don't forget it." He placed his large hands on the boy's blond head. "It's the only legacy you have. Don't forget." Then he left, abandoning the boy alone in the snow and wind.
And the emptiness.
"Matteo is my name!" He smiled and sprinted back toward the crowd, jumping over steps, searching for Anna. He had to tell her the name the mysterious man had given him—a man he didn't know and had never seen again. But that didn't matter. He had a name!
He ran and leaped until he found the grand procession of the wealthy, weaving through the carriages, searching for Anna amid the shouts of people scolding him. A burly guard grabbed him and threw him out of the procession, cursing loudly. The boy simply stood there on the ground, muttering to himself as people laughed: "My name is Matteo…"
He continued his journey home, away from the noise, away from the people and their gatherings. He would walk as usual, but with one crucial difference—he was going home with a name!
His steps felt stronger, his movements lighter, his resolve firmer. Night fell quickly. The crowds vanished, and the road quieted once more in a strangely enchanting way.
-
The night was clear, cloudless and windless, the snow piled on either side of the road. Matteo blew warm air onto his cupped hands—his feet ached from the numbness returning after his long walk. He entered a street lined with tightly packed houses separated by narrow alleys, some with small stairways leading up to their doors. He continued, mesmerized by their orderly beauty.
After a few minutes, he spotted a house in the distance—its windows glowing orange with warmth, its door open. A man in a long coat and a woman in a white coat stood there, two children clinging to them. Matteo paused, watching them for a moment, his cheeks flushing. Then he sprinted toward home!
Yes, this was home, and his family was waiting for him at the door!
He climbed the stairs and grabbed the man's leg, shouting: "Papa!" He was breathless from running. "My name is Ma—"
Before he could finish, the man kicked him hard, sending him tumbling into the snow.
"Don't cling to me, you filthy stray!"
Matteo stared in shock. This was home. This man was his father, waiting for him. So why had he kicked him?
Tears welled in his eyes as the man hurled pebbles at him. One sharp stone struck his forehead.
"I never want to see you near my house again!" The door slammed shut.
Matteo could hear laughter from inside home.
No.
This wasn't home.
It was just a house belonging to a family that wasn't his.
His thoughts drifted as he lay on the ground, his limbs numb from cold, his smile gone from the shock.
"There is no home," he whispered.
His eyelids grew heavy, darkness creeping in. Shadows swirled in his heart, whispering that it was okay to close his eyes forever. A crushing disappointment settled in his soul.
Just as he surrendered his body to the snow, he felt something lift him by the scruff of his neck—a hand?
No.
A hand wasn't this sharp, this wet. A hand didn't exhale hot breath.
Matteo slowly opened his eyes and found himself dangling from the jaws of a large black dog with gleaming eyes. He didn't resist, didn't move a muscle. He simply watched the road with half-lidded eyes as the dog carried him into the narrow alley beside the man's house.
The dog set him down gently beside four puppies—their colors ranging from black to gray. The dog curled around them, and Matteo was suddenly engulfed in overwhelming warmth. He shivered at the sudden heat, curling up instinctively like the puppies pressed against him.
The puppies eagerly nuzzled into the dog's belly, suckling from small teats.
It was a mother dog, not a male. And these were her newborns.
Matteo couldn't stop his tears when the mother dog bent her head and began licking the wound on his forehead. She nudged him toward her belly, rubbing her face against his, emitting a soft whimper.
Without hesitation, he buried his head beside the puppies, finding an empty teat. He began to suck, warm milk flowing into his throat as tears streamed down his face.
Only then did he realize he hadn't eaten or drunk anything since morning.
Matteo melted into the embrace of the mother and her four puppies.
"This is home," he whispered.
And for the first time in his wandering days, he allowed himself to fall into a deep, warm sleep.
-
Matteo woke at sunrise in the mother dog's embrace—the mother he had decided in his dreams to call 'Mama'. He rubbed his eyes and looked at her and the puppies with warmth, smiling softly as he remembered the strange yet comforting taste he had experienced the night before.
Strange, but warm. And it had quenched his thirst in a way he'd never known.
The mother dog stood abruptly, leaving the puppies scrambling from her warmth, and dashed toward the street. Matteo wanted to follow, but the memory of the man from yesterday rooted him beside the puppies.
He stroked their soft bodies affectionately. "You're my siblings now," he chuckled, proud of his decision.
A heaviness soon settled over his eyelids, and he drifted back to sleep beside them.
He woke to the mother dog's tongue licking his face. "Mama, stop…" he giggled, sitting up. She nudged a small bucket of water toward him.
"For me?" Matteo asked. She barked in confirmation.
He smiled, took the bucket, and drank it all in one go. Then he hugged her tightly.
"My name is Matteo, and you're my mama now. Okay?"
The dog tilted her head, then let out a bark that delighted him—he took it as agreement.
The puppies woke and immediately scrambled to nurse. Matteo joined them, and when they were done, he played with them as the mother watched silently.
Days passed like this for Matteo and his small family. He would wake to find Mama sitting beside him with the usual bucket of water (he now slept in late with the puppies and didn't notice her leaving). Then the day would be a race between playing with his siblings and seeking warmth from their mother until it was time to sleep in her embrace.
He never felt thirst, cold, loneliness, or fear of getting in someone's way. Every day felt like an endless dream.
He loved his siblings—three males and one female. "Three brothers and a gray sister," he thought happily. He wasn't good with names due to his lack of interaction with people, so he simply called them Mama and my siblings, content with that.
Two peaceful weeks passed in their hidden, quiet life.
Matteo never imagined anything would disrupt it.
Until that strange day came.
Mama didn't return with the usual bucket of water, even though the sun was high. He sat anxiously, the puppies motionless from hunger. Forcing himself to be brave, he crept to the edge of the alley after hearing strange noises—and froze.
Mama was running in circles in the distance, barking wildly as a ragged young man tried to catch her. A man in a dark brown coat—the man from the house!—shouted at the young man to hurry.
Matteo's blood ran cold. He pressed himself against the wall, trembling. He couldn't bring himself to look again—just the memory of that night made his stomach twist in fear.
But Mama was in trouble. For some reason, this man was trying to catch her—maybe even hurt her!
As thoughts raced through his mind, a piercing scream tore through the air.
The young man clutched his arm—Mama had bitten him! People scattered in fear.
Of course, the man from the house ran with them.
Freed, Mama bolted toward the alley, and Matteo welcomed her with open arms and tear-filled eyes.
"You finally got away from them, Mama!"
She barked in agreement, licking his face.
"You're so strong. I love my strong mama. Right?" He directed the question at the puppies, and one let out a sharp bark.
Matteo laughed, trying to forget the terrifying man's face.
That night was restless with unease. The puppies hadn't nursed much, and Matteo hadn't had anything from Mama. She kept her head raised, watching the alley entrance warily.
He felt her anxiety and wrapped his arms around her neck, gently stroking her as he waited with her for any sign of danger. Eventually, exhaustion took over, and he closed his eyes.
He woke with a start to Mama's furious barking. The night was still dark, but a massive guard holding a bright lantern stood at the alley's entrance—alongside the man from the house, his face twisted in anger.
Matteo clung to Mama instinctively, the puppies trembling behind him.
"I told you, Officer! It's that stray who attacked me two weeks ago! My children weren't lying when they said they heard a child laughing and a dog barking outside! The brat was trying to scare them!"
Stray? Scare them? What was this man talking about? Matteo had been living peacefully here with Mama and his siblings. What was wrong with that?
"And this dog bit someone today! She's dangerous—living with this stray behind my house! Do something!"
Mama wouldn't have bitten that man if he hadn't tried to hurt her. She wasn't dangerous!
Matteo's mind screamed in protest, but the man's authority stole his voice.
"Alright, sir, don't worry. I'll handle this problem right away."
"Make it quick before they spread some deadly disease."
"Honestly, orphans are popping up everywhere these days. We're not even at war—where do they all come from?" The guard spoke calmly as he pulled out a short, sturdy club from his belt and approached them with heavy steps.
Matteo shuddered. Mama bared her teeth, snarling in a way he had never heard before.
The guard ignored her, raising his club—
"MAMA!" Matteo screamed as she lunged—
The guard dodged with cold precision and struck her head with brutal force.
"NO! MAMA DIDN'T DO ANYTHING WRONG!"
His cries blended with his words as the puppies clung to him like lifelines.
"Your mother?" The guard looked at Matteo with contempt, lifting Mama's head as Matteo clung to her, refusing to let go.
"LET HER GO! LET HER GO NOW OR—"
"Or what? Scream louder until my ears burst?"
The guard tightened his grip on her head, yanked Matteo away, and hurled him against the wall. The puppies scattered.
He pinned Mama's head against the wall—
And crushed her skull with the club.
Matteo's scream tore from the depths of his soul as he watched Mama die at the hands of this monstrous guard.
No—not a monster.
The guard was the monster itself.
"The puppies! Don't forget to kill the puppies!" the man from the house shouted.
Matteo wanted to protect them, even if it cost him his life—but his feet refused to move. They were nailed to the ground by horror.
The guard grabbed puppy after puppy, mechanically crushing their skulls.
Matteo's voice was a choked whisper: "Stop."
But the guard didn't stop.
His voice rose: "STOP!"
Tears never stopped.
When the guard finished his slaughter, he carried the five dogs out of the alley, glancing back: "Your turn will come soon."
Matteo's heartbeat pounded in his ears. Blood rushed to his head. Heat radiated from his skin.
He followed the guard's steps slowly to the street—where the guard dumped the five bodies (his family) on the ground.
His heart hammered harder.
People gathered, throwing straw around the dogs.
His heart hammered harder. Harder.
The man from the house held a lit torch.
His heart raced at a speed he couldn't withstand.
And then—
He roared: "STOP!"
The air grew heavy—as if an immense pressure forced every person to their knees, gasping for breath.
"STOP! DON'T HURT MY FAMILY ANYMORE!"
Matteo stepped forward, the weight of the air increasing with each step. The guard and the man from the house crumpled under the pressure.
He lifted Mama onto his back and tucked the four puppies into his oversized shirt, their heads dangling from the collar. Then he walked away.
He staggered, hunched under Mama's weight, terrified the puppies would fall. He walked and walked and walked—toward the forest.
People fled at the sight of him. He ignored them, continuing until he entered the woods, going deeper and deeper until the city faded from his senses.
When the sun rose on the distant horizon, Matteo found what he was looking for—a green clearing surrounded by towering trees, a river flowing on its right side.
He placed the five dogs near the farthest trees. He had no time to rest—he began digging quickly. His heart still pounded, his eyes gleaming with an eerie light.
When the grave was ready—long, wide, and deep enough—he turned to his family and sat beside them.
Smiling, he whispered: "Now you can rest, Mama."
He placed them gently side by side, burying them until the earth was smooth. He dragged a large rock from the river and set it atop the grave.
Then, in silence, he sat and stared at what he had done.
A grave.
He didn't know where he had learned to make one—but he knew they deserved it.
He pressed his face to the dirt and wept—softly at first, then in great, heaving sobs.
"I'm sorry, Mama. I don't want to be alone!"
He cried until the creatures of the forest gathered around him, watching silently from a distance.
His tears stopped at sunset, and he fell into a fitful sleep filled with wooden clubs, burning dogs, and laughing people.
He woke the next morning, his throat parched. He hadn't drunk anything since yesterday. He looked at the grave, then thought of warmth, of the comfort and love he had felt with his family.
His face darkened.
There are many children like me out there.
Matteo stood before the grave and declared: "I'm leaving now, Mama. I'm going to find a family. There are many scary people, but there are also many lonely children like me."
He looked at the sky and took a deep breath.
"I'll gather them, and we'll become one family!"
He set off running, waving goodbye to the grave. He walked toward the city with cautious steps, a confident smile on his face—ready to search for his new family.
A family he would never let anyone hurt again.