Page 19 of Little Red Riding Hood
The inside of Red’s cheek stung—he’d been biting it.
Though there was no time to panic. The man was raising his crossbow, and Wim was clearly preparing to strike—muscles tensed, ears angled. But he was going too slowly for Red’s liking. Red loosed another of his arrows, and just like its previous comrades, it found its mark, burying itself deep within the slaver’s neck.
Red smiled to himself. How many times in a row had his arrow struck true? If only the huntsman could see him now! All of those long, long months of training had finally been put to proper use—and he’d certainly proven his ability to Wim. There could be no further questioning of his skills.
The second cart disappeared around a bend, into the dense foliage, the sound of creaking wheels and panicked elven cries fading into the distance.
Red’s fingers tightened around his bow, an arrow already nocked. He could shoot the horse—bring the whole cart down. The angle would be difficult through the trees, but he’d made harder shots today. More elves could be saved…
But Wim was hurt. Blood matted his grey fur, and he was favouring that leg. What if the injury was worse than it looked? What if that last armedslaver—
Red’s jaw clenched.Damn it all.
Shaking off his dismay, Red scrambled down the tree, his boots hitting the forest floor with a soft thud. He sprinted towards Wim, leaves and twigs crunching beneath his feet. The wolf’s massive form came into focus, and Red’s breath caught in his throat.
He dropped to his knees before Wim, suddenly overwhelmed by the sheer size of the creature whose teeth had torn through human flesh like paper. The wolf’s head alone was nearly as large as Red’s entire torso. Wim’s piercing eyes met his, and Red swallowed hard. His entire body could fit within Wim’s powerful jaws.
Red’s eyes travelled to the matted fur on Wim’s neck, where crimson stained the grey. His hands hovered hesitantly, wanting to help but unsure how. The enormity of Wim’s presence made Red acutely aware of his own fragility.
“Wim,” he whispered, barely audible. “You’re hurt.”
The wolf was silent for a long moment before bursting into raucous laughter. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. It’s only a scratch—it’ll be gone in a minute. Though if you’re offering to kiss it better…”
Red smacked the side of Wim’s neck, though his blow was cushioned by the dense, thick fur. He couldn’t resist tangling his fingers in the soft strands before dragging his hand away.
Red stared up the road. The second cart was now long gone, and a pang of guilt twisted in his gut. Would he have been able to save them if he’d tried? Now they’d be sold at market to cruel masters.
A faint whimper rang through the air, drawing their attention to the injured slaver. He lay on the ground, clutching at his thigh, his eyes wide with pain and fear.One left.
Wim’s ears folded back, and his tail twitched. He padded over to the injured slaver, his massive paws silent on the forest floor. The slaver’s whimper turned to a panicked cry as Wim loomed over him. Red turned away, but not before he heard the sickening crunch of bone as Wim’s paw came down on the slaver’s head, ending his suffering.
The sudden silence weighed heavy on Red’s shoulders. He swallowed hard, trying not to think about the ease with which Wim had dispatched the man. He forced himself to look at the mangled corpse—the skull was crushed, the bone splintered and fragmented, with a sickening amount of brain matter spilling out onto the forest floor. The slaver’s eyes were frozen in a permanent stare, the pupils blown, and the irises cloudy with death. A bloody halo surrounded the head, with splatters of grey and pink brain tissue radiating out from the impact site like a gruesome sunburst.
Red retched, bile burning his tongue.
“Keep those eggs down, would you?” Wim growled.
Surveying the sea of bodies, Red said, “You could eat them, you know. It’s meat that will go to waste.” Fuck, what had the famine reduced him to?
Wim growled. “Wildlings don’t eat humans. Not even scum of the earth.” His large amber eyes snagged on the cart behind Red. “But we can eatthose.”
Red jumped up so quickly, a wave of vertigo washed over him, causing the world to tilt precariously on its axis. As he steadied himself, Wim trotted over to a small sack, carrots and potatoes spilling out of it.
Gasping, Red took stumbling steps towards it, before snatching up a carrot, shoving it into his mouth. Dirt and sweetness mingled on his tongue, followed by the most satisfying crunch. Red eyed Wim guiltily. It should be him devouring all these vegetables, after the extra food he’d given Red.
Another rumbled laugh. “It’s alright, sweetheart. It’s only a carrot. You’ve earned it.”
Red gathered his arrows, grimacing at the sticky crimson coating the shafts. He yanked off a strip from a dead trader’s tunic—cleaner than expected—and methodically wiped each one before sliding them back into his quiver. He didn’t want his pristine golden arrow getting blood on it.
Wim’s tail swished as he nosed through the scattered supplies. “Take that waterskin—and grab those onions.”
Red stuffed everything useful into his pack—the vegetables, a length of rope, flint, and even a small knife with an elaborately carved handle.
“Now let’s get out of here before anyone else comes along.” Wim’s eyes scanned the surrounding area, his expression grim. “Here, have another carrot. You still look pale.”
As they vanished into the trees, the only sound was the soft crunch of Red’s carrot. The forest was quiet once more, but the silence was oppressive, heavy with the weight of death and violence.
The blood on Red’s hands might wash away, but the knowledge that he’d killed would stain his soul forever. Slave traders or not, he was a murderer now. There was no going back from that.
