Page 12 of Little Red Riding Hood
Right?!
The wolf-man shrugged before making a show of scrutinising Red, eyeing him up, then down. “Besides that baby face of yours? Your stature, perhaps. And that fiery temper of yours.”
“I’ll have you know, I’m perfectly mature,” Red huffed, crossing his arms.
Wim chuckled, scratching his thick beard. “Aye, as mature as a babe with a wooden sword.”
Red’s cheeks burned. “And how old are you, then, you great lout?”
“Thirty-two winters, give or take.”
“Practically ancient,” Red muttered under his breath.
“We need to hunt something for supper,” Wim said.
The two eggs from earlier had long since been digested, and Red’s stomach gave a hopeful squeeze at the idea of actual meat for dinner, rather than bone broth. “I was about to suggest that.”
“Were you now? Go on, then. What’s your brilliant plan?”
Red stiffened. He ran his fingers across his leather quiver, embossed with delicate leaves. “I will hunt us some meat. I’m an excellent shot.” He couldn’t restrain his proud tone.
“Well, let’s see what you can do with that bow, then.”
In case an opportunity presented itself, Red readied his bow, holding it down low. As they walked on silently, he scanned the forest floor for any sign of life. A rabbit was their best chance for a filling meal, though they were growing as rare as gold dust nowadays. More likely would be a sparrow or a woodpecker.
The thought of biting into a piping-hot, juicy bird wing sent acid roiling through Red’s gut, and a wave of dizziness hit him. He didn’t realise he’d stumbled over a large rock until Wim caught him.
“You alright, sweetheart?”
“Perfectly!” Red wrenched his arm from the man’s strong grip. It took several moments for the vertigo to pass, the fuzziness at the edge of his vision receding only after several deep breaths. He couldn’t possibly faint in front of this man. The thought was mortifying.
As they trudged on, the forest grew denser, the air thick with the scent of pine and damp earth. Red’s legs ached. Several times he opened his mouth to beg for a break, before snapping it shut again. He took sparing sips from his waterskin. It was almost empty already.
Mouth dry as sandpaper, Red urged himself forward each time he thought about stopping, matching Wim’s pace step for step. He wasn’t going to lag behind and give Wim the satisfaction, or see his face twist in scorn for slowing them down.
Wim’s hand shot out, gripping Red’s arm. Red flinched in alarm, and the man quickly unhanded him, after an incredulous look.
“There,” Wim whispered, pointing to a nearby oak.
Red’s gaze followed the gesture, landing on a plump grey squirrel perched on a low branch. His heart leapt. It wasn’t much, but it would make a decent meal.
With practised ease, Red reached for an arrow, nocking it to his bowstring. The familiar weight settled against his fingers as he drew back, the feathered fletching brushing his cheek. He inhaled deeply, steadying his aim. The world narrowed to a pinpoint—just him, the bow, and his target.
The squirrel twitched, unaware of its impending doom.Got you.Red was already salivating at the thought of the roasted meat. His muscles tensed, ready to release. Then, as he began to loose the arrow, that horrible wave of dizziness returned, crashing over him like a sudden tide sweeping the shore, dragging him down into its depths. His vision swam, the forest tilting sideways. In a moment of pure instinct, he released the bowstring, losing all control as his fingers betrayed him. The arrow flew wide, embedding itself in the tree trunk with a dull thunk.
Startled, the squirrel darted up the tree and out of sight.
“Bollocks!” Red swore. For a moment, the horror rooted him to the spot. He’d missed. He never missed. Heat crept up his neck, shame and anger warring for dominance. He refused to look at Wim, certain he’d find mockery in those amber eyes. “I… I don’t know what happened,” he muttered, glaring at the ground. “The sun must have been in my eyes.” His fingers trembled as he lowered the bow.
“Are you alright?” Wim asked, surprisingly gentle.
Red didn’t trust himself to reply. His cheeks burned with humiliation as he stared at the arrow lodged in the tree trunk. He’d never missed a shot like that before.
“Red?”
Red whirled to face him, anger flaring before he could tamp it. “I’m fine! It was just the sun!” He pointed upwards, where a cloudy sky blocked all sunlight.
Wim frowned, moving closer. “You’re white as milk. Been a while since you had a proper meal, hasn’t it?”
