Page 13 of Little Red Riding Hood
“That’s none of your concern,” Red tried to snap, but his voice sounded weak and distant. The forest gave another sudden lurch around him, and he stumbled.
Firm hands gripped his shoulders, holding him upright. “Steady now. Need to get you sat down somewhere, alright?”
Red wanted to protest, to insist he was fine, but his legs felt like jelly. He allowed Wim to guide him to a fallen log, sinking onto it gratefully.
“Here.” Wim pressed something into his hand. A chunk of dried meat. “Eat this. It’s not much, but it’ll help.”
Red’s pride warred with his hunger for a moment before he gave in, tearing into the jerky with his teeth. The salt and smoke exploded across his tongue, and he had to fight not to moan in relief.
“I would offer more, but that’s all I’ve got left of my backup supplies.”
Why are you being so kind to me?It was baffling. Red had been nothing but rude to this wolf, yet here Wim was, giving Red food for the second time today.
As the meat hit his stomach, the dizziness began to recede. He’d been so incredibly close to fainting. His determination not to show weakness in front of Wim had been his folly.
“Thank you,” Red muttered, not meeting Wim’s gaze.
“Don’t mention it, sweetheart,” Wim’s said, with a hint of laughter, but it wasn’t unkind. “Can’t have you swooning in my arms, now, can we?”
Red rolled his eyes, feeling some of his familiar fire returning. “As if I’d ever swoon for the likes of you!”
Wim chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “Keep telling yourself that, Little Red.” Wim reached for Red’s waterskin, strapped to the side of his pack. Finding it empty, he sighed, tossing Red his own.
Red guzzled it down gratefully, though the precious liquid came with a guilt-ridden aftertaste. “We’re still no closer to finding our evening meal.”
“Are we not?” Wim nodded at the oak tree, bearded chin pointing at Red’s failure of an arrow. Then Red saw it—the squirrel was back, perched atop a branch, gnawing at a nut.
Red slowly reached for his bow. How humiliating would it be to fail twice in a row? He may be about to find out…
Wim’s hand shot out, pushing it away. “My turn,” he said, a mischievous glint in his bright eyes.
Before Red could protest, Wim began shedding his clothing at the speed of a startled deer bolting from danger. What the devil was he playing at? The man stripped down completely, his muscular form bare to the forest air.
“What in the blazes are you doing?” Red hissed, averting his gaze, then affixing it to a nearby patch of moss.
Wim didn’t answer. Instead, he bent down, scooping up a smooth stone. With a swift, fluid motion, he hurled it at the squirrel. The rock struck true, and the creature let out a startled squeak before scampering down the trunk.
In that instant, Wim’s form began to blur and shift. His skin rippled, sprouting thick grey fur. His face elongated into a muzzle, teeth sharpening to deadly points. Within moments, where a man had stood, a massive wolf now crouched, muscles coiled and ready to spring.
Red’s breath caught in his throat. He’d seen Wim’s wolf form yesterday, of course, but the transformation in broad daylight was a sight to behold. It was both terrifying and oddly beautiful, like watching a storm roll in over the mountains.
The wolf bounded after the fleeing squirrel with astonishing speed. His powerful legs carried him in great leaps, closing the distance in heartbeats. The massive creature’s lupine form vanished into the dense undergrowth, the silver-grey blur of his fur melting into the shadows of the forest. The rustling of leaves and snapping of twigs faded, leaving an eerie silence in its wake.
Alone once more, with only the pounding of his heart for company. The forest seemed to close in around Red, the trees looming taller, their branches reaching out like witches’ fingers. He gripped his bow tighter, eyes darting from shadow to shadow.
What if the wolf didn’t come back? The thought ambushed Red, stealing the air from his lungs. It had been barely a handful of hours, really, but he’d already grown accustomed to his companion’s presence, irritating as he was. Without the wildling, he’d be truly alone again in this vast, hungry forest.
Red shook his head. What foolish thoughts! Why should he care if the mangy mutt abandoned him? He was better off alone, wasn’t he? He didn’t need anyone, least of all a sarcastic, exasperating wolf-man.
Yet, as the silence stretched on, a knot of anxiety tightened in Red’s chest. He strained his ears for any sound of Wim’s return, hating himself for hoping.
Just as Red was about to call out—against his better judgement—a rustle in the undergrowth caught his attention. The wolf emerged from the foliage, padding silently towards Red. In his massive jaws, he carried the limp form of the squirrel.
Relief flooded through Red, quickly followed by a wave of displeasure at his own reaction. He schooled his features into a mask of indifference as Wim approached.
The wolf’s muzzle was stained with blood, crimson droplets matting the grey fur of his jaw. His eyes gleamed with triumph as he deposited the squirrel at Red’s feet.
Red found his words at last. “I suppose that’s one way to catch dinner,” he said, trying to sound unimpressed despite his racing heart. “Though I daresay my method would have been far less… dramatic.”
