Page 40 of Little Red Riding Hood
“Or what? You’ll go crying to your mistress?” Red’s words dripped with venom. “That’s all you can do, isn’t it? Run back to her like a good little pet.”
Darkness exploded outward from the spirit’s form. The forest dimmed as if night had fallen in an instant. Shadows danced across tree trunks, taking the shapes of writhing serpents and snarling wolves.
Red’s hands trembled, but he pressed on. “Does she at least pat you on the head when you fetch her slippers?”
“You little—”
“Or does she just snap her fingers and point?” Red clicked his fingers. “Here, boy! Heel!”
The Shadow’s face contorted with rage. With a rush, shadows surged forward, attaching to Red’s cloak and tightening the fabric around his throat. Though the geist’s shadows slithered across his skin like frozen serpents, Red lifted his chin and held the spirit’s gaze steady.
“You’re an unwanted, foolish child, and I don’t have time for your insolence. No wonder the Queen sent you to theSchwarz Waldin little more than a red cloak. You’re entirely expendable—as you always have been, from the moment you were abandoned on the palace steps,” the Queen’s Shadow spat.
Red’s chest tightened, but he forced out a laugh. “Better abandoned than enslaved. I may not have family, but at least I’m not spending eternity as someone’s trained dog.”
The shadows constricted around Red’s throat, leaving him suddenly gasping for air, spots dancingin his vision.
“You dare—”
“What’s wrong?” Red taunted. “Does the truth hurt? Go on then, run back to your kennel. Tell the Queen how mean I was to you. I’m sure she’ll give you a treat for being such a good boy.”
The geist let out an inhuman screech that pierced through Red’s skull. The shadows around Red’s throat dissolved as the spirit’s form exploded outward, fragments of darkness scattering like shards of black glass.
Red’s crimson cloak whipped upwards in a violent gust, the fabric snapping like a banner in a storm. The force knocked him backwards, and he stumbled against a tree trunk. His hood flew off his head, exposing his face to the sudden, bone-chilling cold that radiated from the dispersing spirit.
In moments, the forest returned to its natural state. Weak sunlight filtered through the canopy once more, and Red’s cloak settled back around his shoulders. He adjusted the clasp at his throat, fingers trembling despite his best efforts to steady them.
He’s gone,Red assured himself, smoothing down his hair while his breathing steadied. But for how long? Red had royally pissed him off. Goodness knows what the foul spirit would say to the Queen. She’d made her expectations extremely clear to Red, including what failure would result in.
After allowing himself one mighty sigh, Red trudged onward.
The sun crept across the sky like a timid child, ducking behind clouds whenever Red glanced up. His shadow stretched and shrank as hours trickled past, marking time’s passage across the forest floor.
His legs burned. One foot in front of the other, again and again, until walking became a mindless rhythm. The forest blurred into an endless sea of brown and green, broken only by patches of weak sunlight that dappled the ground. His crimson cloak caught on brambles, tugged free, caught again.
More than anything, Red was bored. He hadn’t fully appreciated having Wim permanently by his side, to chat to—or complain at—over the last few days. Now, it was just him and his thoughts. His anxious, turbulent thoughts. His brain churning over Wim, hisquest, and what exactly the Queen’s Shadow would tell her when the snitch reported back.
When Red next lifted his gaze, the sun had shifted from yellow to orange, painting long shadows across the leaf-strewn path. How many hours had passed? His muscles screamed the answer: too many.
A distant buzz caught his attention… voices carrying through the trees. Red froze, hand flying to his bow. The sound grew clearer: excited chatter, multiple people talking at once. His first instinct screamed to slip away into the undergrowth, to avoid any chance of confrontation.
But… there was something about the tone. A festive, enthusiastic energy. Something exciting was afoot.
Red’s curiosity won out. He crept closer, keeping to the shadows of the larger trees. The voices grew louder, clearer—definitely commoners, by their accents. The clink of metal tools accompanied their chatter.
He peered around a thick oak trunk. About twenty people had gathered in a small clearing, clutching farming implements: scythes, pitchforks, even a few rusty spades. Their clothes marked them as farmers—rough homespun wool and leather, patched and worn. Despite their weapons, their faces shone with excitement and glee.
What could have drawn such a crowd so deep into these woods?
Red crept forward through the underbrush, careful to keep his movements slow and deliberate. His boots found purchase on patches of moss, avoiding the crunch of dead leaves. The excited chatter grew louder as he approached the edge of the gathered commoners.
A woman stood at the fringe of the group, her hollow cheeks and sharp collarbones visible above her threadbare shawl. Despite her gaunt appearance, her eyes sparkled with an almost manic energy as she gestured with a pitchfork.
“Pardon me,” Red whispered. “What’s all this about?”
The woman whirled around, her face lighting up at the prospect of sharing news. “Wolf sighting! Just this morning, near the stream.” She clutched her pitchfork closer, knuckles white against the wooden handle. “Biggest one anyone’s ever seen, they say. Grey as storm clouds.”
Red’s heart plummeted.Wim.
