Nicole Sullivan

Sofia and the Wolf

To those who reminded me every day to never give up my

“right to the pursuit of happiness.”

Chapter One

Sofia. She enjoyed drawing her name in pencil on the margins of her paper while she was bored in school. It was bleak and cold on that gloomy fall morning and the history lesson seemed longer than usual. So she unconsciously begins drawing the five letters in her name with her pencil stub. Her sketch wound up being wider and the outlines were sort of hazy.

She knew how to doodle words in many different styles…elegant and curly, pointy and sharp, standard and refined, three-dimensional and shaded, or rounded and stout like an inflatable beach ball. Each small drawing required special attention and a nice, well-defined space.

The history textbook was well suited for this activity. It had been bought new at the beginning of the year so the pages were not smeared or dirtied by previous students, which often happened with secondhand books. Furthermore there were many blank spaces between the paragraph headings, pictures, and clear blue boxes that contained the so-called historical documents. The teacher was asked the class to complete reading all the documents in the chapter but for every student the word “optional” means “don’t do it”. The teacher would unfailingly ask the students to read all the “documents” as well as the chapter…

She gazed at her name, copied so many times and in so many different styles. Then she asked herself which Sofia she really was. Looking the page over, her eyes fell right on the faded sky-blue box that was beginning to get drowned out under her pencil sketches. Which document were they supposed to be reading? What was the teacher talking about? Oh yea, right, the American Revolution and the Declaration of Independence…

Sofia actually enjoyed this topic because it seemed less dry and detached, especially considering the other concepts that are forcefully administered to them like expired medicine. She hesitated but she glanced at the table: freedom…equality…pursuit of happiness…

Pursuit of happiness? Could a historical document, a political act, dare the citizens to this extent? Could a Declaration guarantee a right so complex to exercise, so much so that at times not even we have the desire to fight to obtain it? What nerve! Sofia became irritated at this thought, while the strange sense that even freedom should be defended but never issued crept into her mind.

The bell sounded, high-pitched and lightly clashing like every time, and Sofia raised her eyes from the book. When she raised her head, after having stared at the pages in front of her for almost an hour continuously, the colors of the classroom appeared a little distorted. She then noticed the noisy crowd of her classmates who were getting up for the lunch break. She rubbed her eyes, attributing that pesky visual quirk to the pure white and cold neon lights that light up the classroom.

She continued to ponder the concept of the right to the pursuit of happiness, repeating it in her head. She asked herself whether such a pursuit is truly possible or if instead, over the centuries, no one had ever noticed that these lines of the Declaration were in fact a subtle joke, refined sarcasm, like when circus animal trainers explain how much fun the animals have and how happy they are circling a track without dignity.

Sofia watched the class, and then the courtyard through the window, and she told herself that in essence everyone must hop in their own circus. The world is full of trainers, and, after all, we are often the cruelest.

Sofia got to her feet, stretched out her numb legs and felt the damp cold of the winter day run down her spine in a shiver. She left the classroom with an air of drowsiness, followed silently by the girl who sat next to her. Marta is a friendly, pleasant girl and Sofia enjoys sharing the daily routine with her. They often laugh hysterically at the teacher’s quirks or the shenanigans that occurs in class. However, Marta is often touchy and can suddenly become moody. Sofia had learned to understand some of the moods and she knew when to let her be because she knew that otherwise it would cause a reaction that would surely hurt both of them. It was, however, enjoyable to know she was there, everyday sitting next to her.

Nevertheless, Sofia was aware of the fact that, not even when they were getting along really well, Marta would never be able to understand her fully. They talked a lot, even about private stuff, but Sofia had the feeling that Marta could only understand the most superficial layer of her soul. It was as if her friend were skating on a frozen lake without being able to imagine what was going on in the depths below, in Sofia’s heart and mind.

But why was everything so hard for other people to get it? Or maybe she was the one who didn’t understand? She was not able to pinpoint what was different about her. She never tried to stand out from others, but as it turned out she had done so unwittingly. In truth, if she looked at herself in the mirror, she would not see anything setting her apart from her peers. She did more or less the same things and hung out at the same places, but she could not help but feel like she was out of step with them. Not better, not worse…just different.

It wasn’t her opinions that gave her this sensation…It wasn’t so much her frequent involuntarily opinions that gave her this feeling and it probably wasn’t that many people didn’t share her view. At times she had the opposite feeling. She felt that her need of exactitude in confronting the world really came down to the fact that, if every person were made up of a thousand strings, she would have even more strings. Therefore it was necessary to find a logical way to tune hers and avoid cacophony. At any rate such strictness requires willpower and strength, which in turn need awareness and rationality, which then requires reflection and discipline. A rather tedious formula for a confused high schooler, who was already asking herself if the right to the pursuit of happiness isn’t only a bold provocation…

Sofia approached the vending machine to get herself a little snack for the recess. Even though she wasn’t really hungry, she knew that if she didn’t down something she would feel light-headed before lunch. While she was waiting for her turn she looked over all the possible choices: dozens of sweet snacks, crackers, and several kinds of chocolate. All of their intense flavors were on display behind the glass. Sofia already made her decision, while absentmindedly chatting with Marta. It was a no brainer since she would choose the same old packet of crackers everyday. They were a little stale and unquestionably flavorless, but their dry taste didn’t bother her much.

Resting on the back of the lukewarm radiator, Sofia unwrapped her sumptuous snack while discussing the in-class philosophy assignment from the first hour with her friend. She hated philosophy class, but not because she didn’t enjoy the subject. Actually all things considered, it wasn’t so bad to think through the thoughts of deceased people who dedicated their lives to leaving unresolved questions to future generations. For Sofia the unbearable part was the teacher’s repetition of the most monotonous meaningless talk, “Well Sofia, you’re responsible for being prepared since you bear a name that is derived from Greek, meaning knowledge, understanding, wisdom…” By then it had been two years that she has heard this statement repeated, without fail, after every assignment or exam. It was unbearable.

After all, she has been studying at liceo classico (footnote – study several subjects including Greek and Latin) and therefore studying Greeks for five years. She knew perfectly well the meaning of “Sophia”, but she refused to believe that a name could entail responsibilities. It is exactly the same as how the right to the pursuit of happiness doesn’t entail the obligation to find it. While lost in thought, she popped a cracker in her mouth and broke it in half with her front teeth. Then she moved it back to her molars and slowly clenched her lower jaw, feeling it give until it was squished in a fine layer of powdery crumbs. Now came the hardest part. She had to swallow it.

Chapter Two:

She didn’t exactly dislike her hair, even though it occasionally had a mind of its own itself on her head. The strands were tightly curled and sometimes got tangled, always hanging down on her shoulders in a different way. It wasn’t frizzy and wispy. In fact each and every strand had its own weight and own separate design. Ever since she was little Sofia had dreamt of having a smooth, golden cascade of hair, but over the years she identified with the rebelliousness of her dark brown locks. She had gotten used to them and even had grown fond of them.

Nonetheless, when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror out of the corner of her eye, she would have hands down preferred that fate granted her Marta’s hair (or that of many of her classmates’): straight, blonde, and silky. She said to herself that it would have given her a more sophisticated appearance. Perhaps in her heart she was convinced that if she also were a blonde, then she would appear, or better yet, she would be the same as all the other girls.

On the other hand she frequently looked down on the compelled conformity of the other girls, who all dressed alike and did their hair the same way. Sometimes they wound up being indistinguishable, like a handful of candy wrapped in the same package. This made everyone taste the same she told herself; still it would have been so relaxing sometimes to just be a part of the package of candy with everyone else. A blonde bob may not be enough, but it certainly would have helped.

This probably was also the reason why as a little girl she really loved dance. Her mom pulled her hair into a delicate bun like all the other little ballerinas. In everyday life she never really would have betrayed her own signature look, but at least in dance class she was able to take a break from it and fall into line with a dozen girls with the same clothes and hair as she had.

However after a while, Sofia left this discipline despite the fact that it helped her establish a big part of herself. Although she saw the rigor and firmness of classical dance in her own character, she was never truly able to merge her soul’s intent with the movements of her body. As if the former required perfection that the later couldn’t fulfill and she ended up feeling even worse than if she hadn’t even tried it.

When she was dancing on the light-colored parquet floor in the gym, Sofia was forced to watch herself in an enormous mirror on the wall, something every dancer considered essential to improving. Indeed it was necessary for any dancer to watch herself from an external point of view in order to correct minute mistakes and achieve the required grace and precision. To Sofia however, the mirror also represented a gigantic enemy that surely, arrogant and mocking, was always able to get the better of her as it hung motionless. She couldn’t beat it. She would never be able to thwart such a cunning opponent that consistently puts her in front of the only foe that she would never be able to overcome: herself.

Sofia tried to watch herself mercifully, but her predominant feeling was always that of faint embarrassment, something she felt even several years after she gave up dance, looking into the mirror over her bathroom sink. It wasn’t exactly that she felt incapable but rather that she perceived her body as something disconnected to her soul. It irritated her when she noticed her body, standing out among the others even though she didn’t have any particularly eye-catching characteristics. She felt gawky and clumsy despite the fact that she was often skinnier than the other girls. Sofia felt like a coarse pigeon in a group of happy little sparrows.

Chapter 3

It was dinnertime, her backpack was packed for the next day and her mom had already called her to the table. Everyday this moment arrived and everyday Sofia knew that it was necessary.

She closed the kitchen door behind her and sat at her place, examining the unsoiled white plate before her. Her parents talked about the happenings of the day, her dad recounting everything that happened at work. This litany had a comforting sound, although now and then the contents of some of the incidences eluded her, not out of indifference but rather because of her tendency to be absorbed in her own thoughts.

In anticipation of the steak that was still in the pan, Sofia began to nibble on a few bits of brad that once swallowed gave her the feeling that her stomach had become even heavier. She felt like it was restricting her breathing.

This feeling showed through in Sofia’s slightly nauseous facial expression as she tried to hold back her yawns, which were caused by a shortness of breath and the need to take in a gulp of oxygen.

To escape mentally from her discomfort, Sofia let her right hand hang limp under her chair, finding Ginevra’s thick and comforting fur. The dog’s fur was coarse but not stubbly and it was sprawled out on a hail and hardy body, which at the same time was also well proportioned and athletic. At this contact Sofia felt almost physical relief, like a gust of crisp air when she felt like her head was spinning.

Ginevra in turn often watched her two-legged friend through her own large honey-colored eyes. Sometimes she examined her as if she understood some of her gestures. Other times she looked her up and down with bewilderment, often staring at her lips, as if hoping to decode her speech. Though the majority of times the dog soothed Sofia with her soft and compliant gaze, affectionate and devoid of any trace of judgment. In the face of this motherly gaze, Sofia was completely stripped of the embarrassment that plagued her when was observing herself in the mirror. Suddenly, during that moment of connection, she no longer had that heavy feeling in her body. Those big, round, amber eyes seemed, perhaps by pure synergy, to go beyond physicality and get straight to that inextricable tangle of nerves, spirit, conscience, and mind that make up the soul.

In anticipation of the steak that was still in the pan, Sofia began to nibble on a few bits of bread that, once swallowed, gave her the feeling that her stomach had become heavier. It seemed that little by little it was restricting her breathing.

This sensation came through on her slightly nauseous facial expression as she tried to suppress her yawns that were caused by her shortness of breath and by the need to take in a gulp of oxygen.

To escape mentally from her discomfort she let her right hand hang limp under the chair, finding Ginevra’s thick and comforting fur. The dog’s fur was coarse but not stubbly and it was sprawled out on a hail and hardy body, which at the same time was also well proportioned and athletic. At this contact Sofia felt almost physical relief, like a gust of crisp air when she felt like her head was spinning.

Ginevra in turn often watched her two-legged friend through her own large honey-colored eyes. Sometimes she examined her as if she understood some of her gestures. Other times she looked her up and down with bewilderment, often staring at her lips, as if hoping to decode her speech. Though the majority of times she soothed Sofia with her soft and compliant gaze, affectionate and devoid of any trace of judgment. In the face of this motherly gaze, Sofia was completely stripped of the embarrassment that plagued her when she felt like she was observing herself in the mirror. Suddenly, during that moment of connection, there was no longer that heavy feeling in her body. Those big, round, amber eyes seemed, maybe by pure synergy, to go beyond physicality and get straight to that inextricable tangle of nerves, spirit, conscience, and mind that make up the soul.

Knowing that Ginevra was curled up next to her gave Sofia a sense of familiar routine. Thus, distracted her from the serious, monotonous conversation with her parents. Little by little she cut up her steak into little bites that slid down her throat one after another. She pictured them emassing in a large pile in the pit of her stomach.

At every meal the same thought passed through Sofia’s mind: it would have been so nice to not have to eat, not to have to submit herself to this torture three times a day. She was jealous of Ginevra since she got only one single daily ration yet nevertheless always managed to be active and energetic.

Once the ritual of dinner was over, Sofia liked to retreat to her room, turning up the stereo and letting herself spend the majority of the evening lost in her own imagination. She never daydreamed about being someone else, although she did like to imagine herself spending her days in a life she might attain, dreams realized, little acts of revenge she would like to experience in her daily life. She loved to act it out in her mind.

Ginevra often followed Sofia into her room and stayed there for the whole night despite Sofia’s tendency to blast the stereo, which played Sofia’s favorite CDs continuously and uninterrupted. The mildly antiestablishment rock made her feel vaguely rebellious. Or maybe it was the existentialist ballads that constituted an investigation of man’s unhappy destiny, in either cynically disillusioned or longing tones. Sofia, in her bitter and naïve enthusiasm, believed she could understand or accept this fate, even if she was only seventeen.

Ginevra, who didn’t understand a single word, lied down on the rug near the bed with her front paws crossed under her thin nose and rasied her eyebrows as though she were watching Sofia with benevolent tolerance.

Sofia couldn’t resist this expression and reached out to pet her every time Ginerva sat like that, raising a little cloud of thick and kinda long fur that often got stuck on her sweater. She removed it by pinching it between her index finger and thumb. Each time she would pause for a few seconds to observe the ever changing combination of blonde, black, white, and tan streaks that together looked like an impressionist painting of nature, made up of the typical shades of a German Shepherd’s coat.

Sofia sat on her bed and then lied down on the mattress, folding her legs to her chest and losing herself in her thoughts. She adored the masculine and elegant scent of Marta’s friend Luca. She tried to bring it back to mind. She imagined how wonderful it would be to feel his arm around her shoulder and then his delicate hand would caress her cheek, just as she had seen the night before in a movie.

She didn’t like the rampant hormones that caused her peers to come into contact with one another, muddling things up and causing them to alternate between raucous laughter and excessive aggressiveness. It wasn’t disapproval that caused Sophia’s annoyance, not a sense of excessive modesty. It was more that the relationships were meaningless and transformed those simple and neat gestures, through desire, from modesty to intoxicating abandonment. Sofia felt old-fashioned, or maybe too particular…in truth she would have liked a kiss from Luca, without it meaning anything romantic. She found him so charming despite his angular features that were emphasized by his big nose, which she found truly and incomparably irresistible. She knew that people didn’t always agree with her taste in guys, but sometimes she felt herself hopelessly attracted to certain unusual facial features, which caused her to overlook other characteristics.

Chapter 18

Spending a few weeks back at home, earlier than anticipated, had surely helped to calm Sofia. She had originally planned to return for the beginning of the exam session in September, with the purpose of seeing her doctor without having to rush and if need be she would have time for some analysis.

Really there wasn’t any need; a doctor, only partially familiar with her present life, confirmed the diagnosis she was given on the phone. He had identified the cause of her predicament to be an anxiety attack brought on by stress.

However, talking with her mother had brought a strong conviction into her mind that there were far different possible causes of her unhappiness and of her dissatisfaction.

The return trip to Austria therefore took place under a new light: Sofia remembered that she deserved the right to choose and the time to do so.

However all of this could wait a few hours. First there was something very importance that she had to do immediately upon her return from the other side of the Alps. More than a month ago, the Klienferchner’s Bernese Mountain Dog, Leni, had puppies and Sofia couldn’t wait to hold them in her arms. She had waited with joy for the birth of the little ones, to see them in their first days of life, but unfortunately circumstances had taken her body and mind elsewhere. Now, having several weeks delayed, she couldn’t wait any longer and as soon as she could she rushed across the walkway that led to Frau Hilde’s little pet corral.

Eight little balls of fur, black as night, trotted in circles around sweet Leni in a little enclosure place in the front yard of the house. As soon as Sofia extended her hand she felt the soft and smooth texture of warm, happy puppies. They rolled over like little silk balls, tripping over one another on their still short and adorably unsteady legs. Sixteen wide, moist eyes opened below their tawny eyebrows and eight curious little noses examined Sofia’s hands.

When she finally picked up a little bundle of fur in her hands, she noticed with a smile the little round belly of the tiny Bernese Mountain Dog. In a few months he would be transformed into a proud and elegant specimen of great dignity, but now he trembled and his little, shiny, black nose, which was accented with two little pink spots that made him unique like a six-pointed little star, panted frantically and inquisitively.

Sofia laughed and her face was peaceful and carefree as she held the puppy in her lap and watched it clumsily crawl up trying to get at her face and nibble at her nose.

Heinz watched her from nearby. His eyes always lingered affectionately on Sofia whenever she showed her true self, but his face had never taken on such a soft expression. Perhaps he himself had missed her visits during her absence, or perhaps, in that precise moment he saw her defenseless and without worries, as she clung to the sweet smelling puppy and left all external issues out of the hug.

In those moments…Ginevra was still there.

Chapter 19

By then, winter had blown its first chilling breezes along the splashing creaks and rolled down into the valley with a sensation like ice crystals, but the warm sun still heated the worn wood of the fences.

Little by little the livestock left the summer pastures and began dozing in their winter shelters, but some spots of color still dotted the compact fields in the distance. It was only when you looked up that you could really notice the change in season. The highest mountain peaks were splashed with white patches, which were growing every night by some strange hex that slightly transformed the surrounding world every time the sun rose to light it up.

Sofia enjoyed the scent of the incoming winter. It slightly stung her nostrils but also brought with it the aroma of the Earth soaked with frost, which evaporated under the last sunbeams and clear of rain.

When she returned from the bookstore, she liked to sit under the little veranda and study for a couple of hours to breath in this dense yet light air. Though, everyday she knew she had to go back after a little bit in order to avoid the cold of the night that would come any minute. Everyday at her side stood a large blue cup filled to the brim with mare’s milk. Sofia believed that its beneficial properties had helped her face the cold season that was appearing between the mountaintops, behind which the sun would slowly slip down every night.

Often Sofia stopped at the Kleinferchner’s on her return home from work to get her milk and to sit for a little to play with Van Gogh. Sofia had picked this name for her favorite puppy, since his speckled pink nose made it seem like the little rascal had accidentally soaked his nose in paint.

Already the puppies were dropping in number everyday because little by little they would get sold to factories near and far. Sofia watched Leni incredulously, asking herself how a close bond could be broken, like the bond between a mother and her child, without constituting a reason for the pain. She herself felt the pain of the mother missing her children and, although by now she considered herself a “grown-up puppy”, she didn’t go a day without talking with her mom and missing her. Still Leni remained there to watch her puppies leave, and she knew that after a few months they would no longer need her. How could nature decide the candor of the separation? How could it take into account the necessity of the split?

Within a few days even Van Gogh had left the group and Sofia already missed that little sack of fur that spun around her feet. He would grab the laces of her sneakers between his teeth and plant his weight on his front paws, lifting his round buttocks that wagged together with his stubby, oscillating tail.

She felt a little bit guilty for being jealous of the future owners of the puppy. Not being too childish, she always indirectly asked Heinz if he already had an offer for that little one and if they already knew when he would have to leave.

Heinz always responded very vaguely but understood the intent of these questions perfectly well. He always tried to avoid telling her something that would make her sad even though he knew sooner or later the ugly little news would be inevitable.

Above all, he couldn’t bear to see the expression of her face, her attempt to hide the pain and disappointment, which was conveyed in a sad smile that exposed her white teeth but left corners of her mouth tense. Meanwhile all of a sudden her eyes appeared rounder and more lost, as if it/she/he created an empty/meaningless level/aspect/standard between her vivid expression and the rest of the world.

Heinz wasn’t a very civilized guy and he certainly didn’t know how to put these details into words. However, she could feel them as forceful as a punch, with the same ease with which she used to understand her horses. They communicated only through body language, the instinctive reality of the bodily detail.

Sofia sensed this new level of mutual understanding and suddenly as if she felt an integral part: exactly/really/own she that for many years understood the body like a cumbersome shell, now she felt natural and serene in this new dialectic simplicity.

Chapter 20

When Lorenzo came through the door on that late October night, Sofia understood that there was something unusual in his solemn pace determined and almost vigorous.

She got up, as she did every night, to go give him a little kiss. It was like a ritual, but this time he looked up at her and, without even saying hello, he told her that he need to talk to her about something important.

“We will return home, Sofia. My father has already decided everything and we will leave next week! As you know the business is doing great and finally there will be someone who will be able to take my place here so I can return to Italy to revamp the business. Tomorrow you will announce to the bookshop that we will leave within ten days.”

His eyes were, as always, a little distant but at the same time almost triumphant in the comfort of being able to return home. He had already decided everything for Sofia. He had arranged her life, her work, without even asking her. However he didn’t have any doubts that by now she lived to follow him.

Sofia stayed motionless.

For months she had been homesick; she missed her family, the comfort of her house, and her friends. However at once, without nearly realizing rationally that which she was about to do, she felt a new feeling growing in the pit of her stomach.

“Not me, Lorenzo. I’m sorry. You return to Italy but I will stay here for a little while yet.”

Lorenzo was left in disbelief, “Don’t be foolish, you will obviously come with me and we will go forward with our plans.”

“Our plans are no longer a long time away.” She interrupted him, with an air of cold-heartedness almost unnatural, meanwhile the world exploded between the heart and the throat. “ It would seem perfect if you were even barely interested in my feelings during these long months, instead of living only within yourself.”

He didn’t really believe the words that were coming from Sofia, as if she couldn’t develop something that would hinder his plans such, her certainty, her reality. Sofia belonged to him. Sofia’s future belonged to him.

At this point she tried to explain the reasons for which she had completely destroyed the crystal cage in which he had locked her in but she realized that her words struggled to efficiently portray all the months in a downward spiral in which she was feeling herself becoming void little by little and losing her right to the Pursuit of Happiness…exactly like she had read some years before in her history textbook on that bluish page covered by pencil sketches of her name.

Everything broke down to a single sentence, “You…you killed Ginevra.”

Those few words contained all that Lorenzo had turned off of her.

After a little while Lorenzo left the house, headed to his father’s residence where he would take shelter until he leaves for Italy. Sofia watched him leave in the car from the garden of the house, bringing with him his insults and the tears. She felt stunned/dazed, as if she was living inside of a strange dream.

She bent down and put her hands on the thick grass, which was tangled like a gigantic nest that encircled her even though she had just taken off.

She wanted to go inside and call her mom immediately, just like when she lost Ginevra, but remained there, motionless, knelt down on the green blanket that surrounded her while a few tears plunged from the tip of her nose towards the blades of grass. They weren’t tears of sadness, but rather drops of a life that had passed.

While remaining still crouched immobile, Sofia heard the noise of a motor that captured her attention. She looked up mechanically and saw an old, bruised little off-road vehicle/Jeep/SUV that entered the walkway to her house. She had seen it before but she didn’t remember exactly where she did.

The car stopped right in front of the gate, with the croaking/squawking sound of an old handbrake strained with energy.

Out of the car came Heinz, who almost didn’t look towards her but quickly headed towards the rear car door. He opened in and disappeared for a few seconds inside the car, remaining visible only from the waist down, in his wide, brown velvet pants.

When he reappeared, he had something between his hands, actually in his arms.

Then he turned towards Sofia, who in the meantime got up from the ground and watched him with curiousity and wonder.

Heinz passed the wooden gate and gave her a broad smile from a young man, filled with the simple delight of a kid inasmuch as she was doing.

He extended his arms towards Sofia and his large hands were full of fur: Van Gogh waved his legs in the air in anticipation to meeting the familiar embrace of Sofia.

Sofia smiled back, with the same simple delight, and sunk her chilled hands into the fur of the very excited puppy, while watching Heinz without guilt.

After a few moments of joy and confusion, Sofia left Van Gogh to run around in the garden and she approached Heinz to thank him but, at last, it wasn’t words coming out from her heart with genuine sincerity, but rather a hug.

She sunk her nose into his flannel shirt, which smelt of smoke and aftershave, feeling the shaved skin itching her temple.

Suddenly, while her hands were intertwined behind Heinz’s neck, she felt something between her fingers. She looked up over his shoulders and opened her hand. She saw a lock of fur in her palm. It wasn’t black and thick like that of Van Gogh. It was shaggy and dyed with many colors…it was blonde, gray, black and beige. It had that texture that Sofia knew by heart. It was from a German Shepherd.

Sofia was startled, almost scared, she asked herself…but after a few moments she looked up between the mountaintops and smiled.