Rue and This Wolf Battle
Part 4 of the Red Riding Hood Story
Tiny female human stands there. Looking at me.
“Where are you going, small human in red coat?”
She just stares at me. Wind along my back. Wind against her hood. They ripple. I wait.
“I am going to my grandmother’s house,” she says. I think of grandmother. Packs do not like humans. They fight too much. Meat is not tasty. Old prey, they crunch, not a lot of flesh. Not satisfying. But this small human is in front of me. She smells delicious.
“Little girl, how far?” I growl.
“I am not a little girl!” Her eyes squinches down. “My name is Rue.”
Enough! My mind says. Eat her! You are hungry! I am. Pit in stomach.
“Rue.” I say, as much in human-speak as I can. “Yes, tiny Rue.” She stands her ground. Looks at me. Slowly, she sets down her basket, the one full of enticing smells. Backs away.
She does not know, as I do, that once we spot prey, they rarely get away. Prey! The word sings in our minds. Prey, prey, prey! Food and eat!
“Where are you going, tiny Rue?” I ask. Approach her. She crouches down, glances around, spots a sturdy branch. Darting like a rabbit, she snatches it up. Holds it. Big branch over one shoulder, she stares at me. Face set. Cub is ready to fight.
Going to eat you up!
I pounce. She swings the branch onto my head. She is quick, tiny Rue, red coat swirling around her. The blow stuns me, but I am This Wolf. This Wolf! No pack, but still wolf! echoes in my head as I bound towards her.
My claws rake her coat. Feel them dragging down an arm.
“No!!” She shouts. Voice is full of pain, of alarm. Like all prey. I circle her. Her arm is bleeding. I smell the full flavor of red blood, of life. Tongue lolls out. Sniff.
“Come here, tiny Rue.” Pounce. Again with the branch, this time on a leg. It hurts. She has broken something, my leg says to me. I growl. No longer amused. I want to eat, chew something up. Feel meat go down my throat.
She hits me. I claw her. Screams, voice high. Fear. But little human keeps on hitting. Slamming branch on my head, nose, snout. We are fighting, one on one. I can’t get closer to her. She can’t get closer to me. I claw, she bleeds. She brings wood down on me.
How? My mind howls.
I do not know. I am big and strong. I am This Wolf, but she is fast. She is a spark of fire, red and flaming. When I try to leap onto her, she stabs me with the branch, jams it into my eyes. My mouth. Open with anticipation of food. But no food. She is not the prey I know. She hits me, again and again. My claws flash out. I catch her flesh, over and over, but she does not stop.
My thoughts. Human! That is why we do not hunt humans! I know this, as wolf, but pack never hunted one, so I only heard. Now I see. Now I understand.
She is tired, is scared. I have hurt her in many places. But cub is still determined. Back against tree. Branch held high. My leg, left front, is dangling. Broken, By branch. By tiny Rue. My head hurts. One eye closed, swollen. Nose sore. Back battered.
We both pant. Studying at each other. Still and silent. She leans against tree. Red coat shredded. Bright blood trickling. Blood! My brain. Finish! But she is tough prey, prey that has hurt me.
I sit down. Thinking. Her basket is open, scents in air. She lowers the branch, sliding down tree. Looks around her. Sees what has scattered from the basket. She picks something up. Weighs it in one tiny paw. Opens, toes stretching. Lifts it towards me.
“This is my lunch,” she says. “Take it.”
Sniff. Meat. I look at her from my one open eye. Food on her paw. I lick my jowls. Lick. My nose twitches. Smells good.
