Page 64 of Little Red Riding Hood
Wim rumbled in disagreement. “Might want to remember who’s the predator here, sweetheart. We know how to sneak up on our prey.”
“It’s mainlymyitems we need. I’ll find them quicker than you will,” Red insisted. “Plus, they’re less likely to immediately kill me upon sight—they’ll recognise me, at least.”
Wim’s jaw clenched, but after a long moment he growled out, “If that’s how you want it. But I’ll be right here in the shadows. One wrong move from them…”
“Look,” Red started, accidentally biting into his still slightly sore lip. “If theydograb me, do the sensible thing and run, would you?”
Wim’s eyes flashed dangerously in the dark. “After all the trouble I’ve gone through keeping you alive?” His tone was light, but his expression was deadly serious. “I’m not going anywhere without you, sweetheart.”
“Well… at least promise me you’lltrynot to kill them. I don’t want you to harbour any more guilt, especially on my account.”
The wolf scoffed. “Not making any promises about that, sweetheart,” he said softly, yet there was steel beneath the words. “They touch you, they die.”
Red couldn’t help the butterflies that exploded in his stomach, despite the fact they were induced by threats of violence.
When they could hear no more voices, Red crept forward, keeping his footsteps as light as a cat’s. The bandits’ camp sprawled before him, their bodies scattered around dying embers. The first lookout’s chin rested against his chest, soft snores escaping his lips.Red froze as the man stirred, muttering something unintelligible before settling back into slumber.
Holding his breath, Red slipped past the dozing guard. The second watchman sat slumped against a tree stump, a half-empty bottle of cheap spirits dangling from his fingertips.
And there, in the centre, lay a jumbled heap of belongings, including Red’s pack and new boots. His fingers trembled as he reached for his bow, relief flooding through him as he lifted it from the pile. His quiver sat beneath, and he checked inside—the golden arrow glinted in the dim firelight, its shaft unmarred. Their basket from the market lay on its side, and Red snatched it up.
A few feet away, Eyepatch snored beneath their new blankets, the ones Wim had bartered for at market. Red’s jaw clenched. The brute had wrapped himself in both, leaving his companions to shiver in their threadbare coverings.
Where was his cloak? Red scanned the camp, searching for that familiar flash of crimson. Nothing.
A small cart sat at the edge of camp, its wooden sides weathered and cracked. Red crept towards it, careful to avoid the sleeping forms between him and his target. Inside, sacks of grain competed for space with leather pouches and what looked like stolen trinkets. He rifled through them as quietly as possible, stomach sinking with each empty container. A crate beside the cart yielded nothing but mouldy vegetables and a nest of mice.
His chest tightened—the thought of losing his only connection to his mother made him want to tear the camp apart.
One of the bandits rolled over, muttering in his sleep. Red froze, muscles rigid, barely daring to breathe. The man’s hand flopped out, inches from Red’s foot. After what felt like ages, the bandit’s breathing evened out again.
Red retreated, step by careful step, until he reached the treeline where Wim waited. He clutched the bow and quiver to his chest, along with a small sack of supplies he’d managed to reclaim.
“My cloak,” he whispered, a lump forming in his throat. “I couldn’t find it. It’s nowhere to be seen!”
“You searched everywhere?” Wim asked gently. “At least we got your bow back, sweetheart. And that arrow you need so badly.”
Red’s fingers tightened around the bow. “But… my cloak…” He swallowed around a lump in his throat. “I can’t shoot properly without it.” He fought hard to keep the wobble from his voice. “It helps steady my aim in the wind and…” A deep breath in. “It’s all I have left of her.”
The wolf cocked his head to one side, amber eyes searching Red’s face, understanding dawning in their depths. “Stay right here, Red,” he murmured, already scenting the air. “If it’s got your smell on it, I’ll find it.”
Before Red could protest, the massive grey wolf padded silently into the camp, nose low to the ground. Red pressed against a tree trunk, heart hammering as Wim weaved between the sleeping bodies.
The wolf paused near Eyepatch, sniffing the air. Red followed his gaze and spotted a flash of crimson peeking out from beneath the stolen blankets. That greedy bastard had wrapped himself in both thick blankets they’d bought at marketandtaken Red’s cloak as an extra layer.
Red expected Wim to retreat, to return with the news of its location. Instead, the wolf crouched low, assessing the situation. The idiot was going to try something.
Don’t, Red wanted to shout.It’s not worth the risk. If Eyepatch woke up while Wim was that close… Red’s stomach churned at the thought of the bandit’s blade finding Wim’s throat. All because of a stupid cloak.
Wim crept closer, careful paw steps bringing him within inches of the sleeping bandit. His teeth closed around the visible edge of red fabric. Ever so slowly, he began to pull.
Heart lodged in his throat, Red readied and raised his bow as Wim tugged at the cloak. The fabric refused to budge, caught beneathEyepatch’s bulk. Wim’s muscles tensed with each careful pull, yet the cloak remained trapped.
The sight of the wolf so close to the cruel bandit proved too much. Red crept forward, one hand fluttering in frantic gestures as he approached.
“Leave it!” he mouthed, waving in sharp, desperate movements.
The cloak remained in Wim’s strong jaw. “You can hardly be Little Red without your fucking red riding hood, can you, sweetheart?” he hissed.
