Page 53 of Little Red Riding Hood
“Right, then.” Wim clapped his hands together. “Now comes the tricky part—carrying it all.”
Dragging his gaze from Wim’s lips, Red scanned their surroundings. His eyes landed on an enormous slab of bark, dislodged from a fallen tree. “There. We can use that as a sledge.”
Red beamed at Wim victoriously, rather proud of his ingenuity.
They quickly piled the meat onto the makeshift sled, then Wim rummaged through his pack, producing a long coil of sturdy rope. Within minutes, they’d lashed the bark securely.
Wim tested the weight, giving the sledge an experimental tug. He grunted with effort but kept his feet. “Who knew there was such alarge brain in that pretty little head of yours?” He took a few more large strides, and the bark slid across the floor.
“Wouldn’t it be easier in your wolf form? I’m sure that big strong body could pull it with much less effort.”
Wim narrowed his eyes. “And have you take the reins, treating me like an obedient dog? I don’t think so, sweetheart.” His smile turned wolfish. “Unless that’s a fantasy of yours?”
Red opened his mouth, an indignant retort ready, but Wim cut him off with a low chuckle.
“I’ll shift later perhaps, but for now… let me enjoy your company in this form, if that’s alright with you.”
That was more than alright with Red. He fell into step beside him, happily sneaking sidelong glances at Wim, admiring the flex of powerful muscles beneath sun-kissed skin.
Red’s gaze traced the strong lines of Wim’s jaw, the breadth of his shoulders, down to where his shirt stretched tight across his chest. Sometimes, even when Wim was simply walking, his loveliness stole Red’s breath away.
Yet… even with his rugged handsomeness, his scars and that nasty bite mark would likely mean he wouldn’t beperfectenough for Queen Schön.
Red’s stomach churned. Even now, hundreds of miles away from the palace, the Queen’s voice still whispered in his head, categorising beauty and ugliness as if people were objects to sort. He’d absorbed her poison deep into his bones, letting her shape how he saw the world.
His hand passed through his strawberry-blond hair.
How he sawhimself.
If only Red could scrub himself raw, to tear out every remnant of her teaching that still lingered in his mind.
Though… here he was, marching through the woods for the same woman he despised, on a quest of her making.
A quest that would hopefully prevent thousands of people starving to death.
A quest you keep delaying.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Wim said, cutting through Red’s spiralling thoughts.
“Just thinking about all the things I’m going to buy at the market,” Red replied, a little too brightly.
Wim hummed, shooting him a disbelieving look.
It was terrifying, really, how easily Wim could see past his defences, as if Red were made of glass instead of the carefully crafted armour he’d spent a lifetime building.
Terrifying, and exhilarating.
Twelve
The sun hung low in the sky by the time they reached the market town, casting long shadows across the worn dirt path. Though Red had offered multiple times to take a turn hauling their load, Wim had simply laughed at him. Now, Wim’s chest heaved with exertion, sweat darkening his shirt despite the cool autumn air. At least the meat wouldn’t spoil in this weather.
The market occupied a natural clearing at the town’s edge, though ‘market’ seemed a generous term for what remained. Skeletal wooden stalls formed uneven rows, many abandoned, their surfaces mostly bare. A few cracked straw baskets lay forgotten, and Red grabbed one, his nose twitching at the sour scent of desperation that permeated the air.
Tattered fabrics hung limply between wooden posts, faded reminders of more prosperous times. The few traders present hawked their wares in hoarse voices, while hollow-eyed children darted between the legs of weary-looking customers. What little food was on display looked pitiful—undersized turnips, withered cabbages, and gnarled carrots commanding eye-watering prices.
“Looks like we made it just in time.” Red gestured to the sparse gathering. “Before everything’s gone.”
Wim grunted, adjusting his grip on the makeshift sledge. “Thank god for that. My arms are about ready to fall off.”
