Page 20 of Little Red Riding Hood
Red swallowed a large mouthful of carrot.
The strangest thing of all?
The vegetable had never tasted so sweet.
Five
“And did you see when I hit the rope? Bang in the middle! It split instantly, cleaved it in two!”
“Mhmm.” Wim took a large slurp from his bowl. Squirrel, potato, and carrot stew, seasoned with the sweet taste of success. “I sure did.”
“And then with that driver on the horse… I thought I’d have to use two arrows, at least, but I got him first try!”
The hearty stew he’d devoured coursed through Red like a warm embrace, the rich flavours igniting a spark of confidence he hadn’t felt in ages. It was as if the meal had breathed life into him, energising his thoughts and pushing back the ghost of self-doubt.
Wim set his bowl down next to their fire. Earlier, with Wim’s help, Red had lit the fire himself, coaxing the tiny flickering embers to life as they danced beneath the kindling, growing the flame into a warm, inviting glow. Wim wiped his mouth and beard, then grinned at Red. “I saw it all, Red. It was brilliant. You were brilliant.”
Red’s chest swelled with pride at Wim’s words.Brilliant. He’d never been called that before. The huntsman had taught him skills with the bow and arrow, but praise had always been sparse, more of a grunt of approval than a cheer of encouragement.
A warm flush crept up Red’s neck, and he ducked his head, pretending to focus on his stew. The praise felt foreign, yet intoxicating. He wanted more of it.
His mind raced back to the moment he’d loosed that arrow. The surge of power, the rush of adrenaline. For once, he’d felt… useful. Important. Not just some cast-off orphan with ugly, mismatched eyes, knocking around the palace like an extra cog in a machine that didn’t need him.
Red snuck a glance at Wim, studying the way the firelight danced across his rugged features. How could someone so fierce, so powerful, thinkhewas brilliant? It didn’t make sense. And yet…
A niggling doubt wormed its way into his thoughts. What if this was all an act? What if Wim was just buttering him up, waiting for the right moment to—
“Gone all silent on me, sweetheart. First time taking a life, I’m guessing?”
“Yes,” Red admitted. “I know I shouldn’t give a flying fuck about killing those monsters. But…” He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.
“I’ve lost track of how many I’ve killed now,” Wim said, almost absently.
“You mean… the ones you accidentally ate? That wasn’t really your fault, though, if your sickness or whatever made you do it.”
Wim fell silent, his gaze fixed on the dancing flames. The firelight cast strange shadows across his face, deepening the lines around his eyes, making him look older, more haunted. His neck wound hadn’t fully healed when he shifted back, and some blood had leaked onto his shirt, leaving a dark stain.
Red shifted on his log, uncomfortable with the sudden change in mood—the victory of their earlier triumph had melted away like frost in sunlight.
“They visit me every night when I try to sleep,” Wim whispered, his voice barely audible above the crackling fire.
Red’s chest tightened. He couldn’t bear to see this powerful man look so… broken. “But you shouldn’t feel guilty, surely? It wasn’tyou.”
Wim’s eyes snapped up to meet his, and Red flinched at their intensity. “It’s not only guilt I feel. It’sdesire.” His fingers curled into fists. “When the beast takes hold, I crave the taste of blood, the feeling of ripping flesh between my teeth while they scream.”
Ice slithered down Red’s spine. His hand instinctively moved towards his bow, though he forced it back down. The way Wim spoke those words—with such raw hunger—made Red’s stomach churn. This hardly seemed the same man who’d just praised him moments ago, who’d helped him light the fire and made them both stew.
Red pulled his red cloak tighter around himself. “I keep thinking about the elves,” he said, mournful. A subject change was more than necessary. “The ones that we didn’t save. They looked so desolate when they pressed their faces to the bars. It was like they were looking straight at me. And what about the ones we did save? They just ran off into the woods!”
“Elves are survivors.” Wim’s tone had softened, losing that terrible edge of hunger. He rubbed his palms against his thighs, shaking his head, and Red’s shoulders loosened a fraction. When Wim leaned over to place a large hand over Red’s, he didn’t flinch. “Red. We did a good thing today. You can’t save everyone. That isn’t how the world works.”
Red wasn’t completely convinced they’d savedanyonetoday. Surely the runaway elves would starve to death in the forest, still chained together, but he forced himself to smile at Wim.
Draining the last of his bowl, Red sighed in contentment. It tasted delicious, with the extra herbs Wim added from his pack. He had to admit, this man couldcook. He could probably give the palace kitchen staff a run for their gold.
The moment Red placed his bowl down, Wim reached for the cooking pot, pouring the last of the stew into it.
“What? Stop!” Red protested. “You have it.”
