Of Men and Wolves
A Little Red Short Story
The November fog blankets the ground as the girl in the crimson cloak makes her way through the woods. The moisture in the air is heavy – almost stifling. And although the rain has stopped, it’s left behind a muddy mess that sucks at her boots and takes twice as long to navigate through.
A crow’s warning cry pierces the silence. Someone is coming. The girl spins, but the fog is even thicker now. She won’t reach the cottage for five minutes yet. She quickens her pace, the pulse at her throat throbbing painfully.
“Mistress Karmesinrot, a moment please,” a deep voice calls out. “I have a cut on my arm that needs tending.”
She pauses. Only a patient. The girl releases a breath and turns. A bearded man appears through the haze. “I do not recognize you, sir. You are not from my village.”
“True enough. I visited today’s market and was told of your skill.”
“My grandmother will have a salve at our cottage. I can do nothing for you now.”
The man draws closer. “Might you take a look? If you think it will heal on its own, then I needn’t trouble your grandmother.”
“All right. But hurry, sir, ’tis too cold to linger.”
He stands in front of her and pushes up the sleeve of his coat, revealing a brawny forearm with three scabby gashes. Fingernails raked across skin. Defensive scratches. The girl’s heart leaps in alarm, but she tries not to show any fear. Like all predators, he will sense it, and feed off it.
“Tis clean enough,” she says in a steady voice. “You won’t need the salve. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must get home.”
The girl has barely gone a few paces when his muscular forearm clamps around her midsection. He pulls her hard against him. “You needn’t be so hasty, Mistress Karmesinrot.” His voice is a low growl. “Stay a moment longer.” With his other hand, he yanks down her hood, tangling his fingers in her brown hair. She can feel the warmth of his breath as he inhales her scent.
The girl knows what he intends to do. Without thinking, she throws her head back and smashes into his nose. Pain surges through her skull, but the man loosens his grip long enough for her to break free. She tosses her basket onto the ground and bolts down the soggy path. The girl doesn’t get far… her boot pulls off, causing her to stumble. She breaks her fall with her hands. Mud oozes between her fingers. She grabs fistfuls of it.
The man throws the girl onto her back. His nose is streaming blood – his face contorted in a mask of rage. “I’ll hurt you for that, little witch,” he snarls.
She flings the mud at his eyes, temporarily blinding him. “Beast!” She shoves him away, rips off her remaining boot, and dashes into the trees. The girl’s saturated skirts cling to her legs, slowing her down. The man yells vile obscenities as he crashes in after her. A branch stabs into the sole of her foot, but she continues on.
Something rushes past her – a streak of grey that collides bodily with the man in an earth-shaking thwack that topples him like a felled tree. The man’s scream changes to a wet sounding gurgle. Then silence. The girl knows that he is dead.
Gasping, she falls onto her knees. Her burning lungs and throbbing skull nearly cause her to lose consciousness. She empties her stomach and squeezes her eyes shut. You’re safe now, she reminds herself. Breathe. Breathe!
Once the trembling stops, she manages to stand up on wobbly legs. The girl turns to face her rescuer. A large wolf with amber eyes sits between her and the dead man. Crimson blood stains his muzzle. Although many years have passed, the girl recognizes him.
On a bitterly cold day in winter – with snows more than a foot deep – she’d gone out to check the snares. A thin grey wolf had emerged from the trees, his teeth bared in warning. The girl tossed the dead rabbit onto the ground. He picked it up in his jaws, but instead of running away, he fixed her with his bold amber gaze. The silent show of gratitude had amazed her at the time, and she’d never forgotten their encounter.
The wolf lets out a whine and drops onto his stomach. She hobbles over to him, unafraid.
“Good boy,” she murmurs, holding out a hand for him to sniff. He licks it with the rough rasp of his tongue. She strokes his head and the wolf’s tongue lolls out, exposing his lethal canines.
“Thank you for saving me.”
His amber eyes blink in reply. You’re welcome, girl.
I wrote this piece on Valentine’s Day of this year. I tried to keep it short, suspenseful, and cinematic. This was more of an experimental writing style for me, but I had fun with it.
This is great! I love your use of the wolf as the hero.
I LOVE it! Suspenseful and entertaining!