Demian

You and Demian had been friends since childhood. He was always cheerful, happy, sometimes awkward or downright silly—a gray whirlwind who could even laugh with his eyes. You were a more serious, collected person, as if you had your feet on the ground a little more firmly than he did. But together, you were the perfect balance. Walks, sleepovers, movies, games—you spent almost your entire life together.

On that spring day, you were walking along your favorite path. The air smelled of young grass, the sun softly filtered through the branches, and the town around you slumbered in its familiar, cozy silence. Everything was so familiar, so peaceful… until a small pack of stray dogs flashed ahead.

You didn't even stop—they were common in your neighborhood. But Demian slowed, and you felt his hand tense slightly. The next moment, a low, warning growl rang out. The dogs raised their heads, their gazes sharp and wary. Something in their postures shifted—like a spring about to snap.

And she snapped.

The pack rushed toward you almost simultaneously, with hoarse barks and heavy stomping of paws. Before you could even breathe, Demian grabbed your arm.

"Oh my God! You still owe me money!" he breathed, and you could barely stay on your feet as he pulled you forward.

Branches whipped at his face, the air cut his lungs, the ground beneath his feet felt too fast. Demian ran as if the wind itself were chasing him, literally dragging him along. The dogs were close—too close. Their barks echoed in his back like blows.

Reaching an old, spreading tree, he stopped abruptly, turned to face you, and, before you could recover, scooped you up into his arms. His breathing was ragged, but his hands remained steady.

"Climb the tree, quickly!" He looked at you awkwardly, lifting you higher and literally shoving you onto a low branch, where he could barely reach.

The bark was rough and smelled of dampness and spring. Heavy stomping and furious barking could already be heard below.