Page 17 of Little Red Riding Hood
But Red wasn’t going to move a single inch. Because he wasn’t about to make a fool of himself. Not after his previous attempts to flirt with others, which had all failed, each more spectacularly than the last.
“Halt! Ten-minute break!”
The shout, deep and coarse, jolted Red. He’d managed to tune the slave traders’ carts out, so focused on that damned berry, and now the slavers were right next to them, by the sound of things.
With a wink, Wim removed the fruit—and that lovely warm hand—popping the tiny berry into his own mouth.
“But… How did you know they were going to stop?” Red whispered.
“Heard them say it. But it’s fine luck that they’ve stopped right beside our bush, aye, sweetheart?”
Why was the way Wim said ‘our’ doing funny things to Red’s heart? More to the point, why did Red agree to this ridiculous plan he hadn’t even heard the details of yet?
“Look.” Wim lightly pushed him forward, to a slight gap between the leaves.
Red peered through, his heart plummeting at the sight before him. Eight humans stood around two horse-drawn carts, their appearances as vile as their trade. Matted hair hung in greasy clumps around their unwashed faces, and their clothes were stained with sweat and grime. When they spoke, their voices were harsh and guttural, thick with unfamiliar accents.
But it was the carts that truly made Red’s stomach churn. Each one held a large metal cage, and within those cages… Red had to stifle a gasp. Elves. Dozens of them, crammed together like animals. They were a touch smaller than your average human, with delicate pointed ears and round faces that should have been full of life. Instead, their cheeks were hollow with hunger, their eyes wide with fear.
As Red watched, one of the traders rattled the bars of a cage, laughing cruelly as the elves inside whimpered and huddled closer together. Their thin arms wrapped around each other, seeking comfort where there was none to be found.
Red felt bile rise in his throat. He’d heard rumours of such cruelty, but to see it with his own eyes…
But what exactly did Wim have in mind when he’d said, ‘mischief?’ The wolf could certainly hold his own, but there were eightof them, and they had numerous sharp weapons strapped around them…
“You look terrified,” Wim hissed in his ear.
“I’m certainly not!” Red retorted. “But… what are we… Surely you don’t mean to kill them all? You might get one down, but the others will be on you!”
“Aww, didn’t know you cared so much, sweetheart.”
“I’m concerned formysafety!” Red had whispered it too loudly—Wim slapped his large hand over Red’s mouth to silence him. Wrenching the offending limb off his face lest he get distracted again, Red spat, “That’s all!”
On the road, the slavers chatted loudly, going about their business with merry tunes. One man, gangly with a patchy blond beard, marched towards the bush. Red flinched, taking a step back, but Wim caught him, softly laughing in his ear. The slaver shuffled down his breeches, then his drawers, before relieving himself.
Right outside their bush.
Lovely.
Red stared at the earthy ground, ready to jump out of the way of any trickle of urine that coursed their way.
“Right then, sweetheart. Listen closely, and I’ll tell you the plan…”
Red’s heart raced like a startled hare as he crouched in the bough of a large gnarled oak, fingers curled around the rough bark, with ridges digging painfully into his skin. He held his breath, waiting for the signal.
Perched on top of the first horse, the slave driver watched the other seven men wrap up their break.
A wave of acid made its home in Red’s gut.Not long now.Red had plenty of experience shooting animals. How different could shooting a human possibly be?
The driver’s gravelly voice cut through the forest air. “One minute, folks! Get ready to move out!”
A low growl rumbled from the foliage down the track. Red’s muscles tensed. Wim burst from the undergrowth, a massive grey blur of fur and fangs. His howl pierced the air, sending birds scattering from nearby trees. The sound stirred a primal fear within Red, but there was no time to calm his stuttering heart.
Chaos erupted—the horses reared up as the slavers shouted in panic, scrambling for weapons. Cages rattled as the captured elves stirred, fear flickering in their eyes. One of the elves, a young girl, screamed as she was thrown against the bars, her head cracking against the metal with a sickening thud.
“Bloody hell! Is that a wolf or a wildling?” One of the men stumbled backwards, nearly dropping his heavy crossbow.
Red’s fingers twitched, itching to nock an arrow. But he held back, remembering Wim’s instructions.“Wait for my signal.”
