Red licked her clapped lips as she waited. Anger tingled throughout her nerves. Her blade felt heavy in her hands. She wanted so badly to use it. She wanted to carve a clean line across its furry neck. She wanted to see his blood dampen his fur. She wanted to see its mighty body fall limp on the ground whimpering. Her pulse ran in her ears. She shifted positions. The wolf stalked through the woods. She thought of all its other victims. It only made her want to use her blade more. The wolf was an easy target. She could easily take it out right now. She smiled at the thought of avenging your grandma's death. She couldn't take it anymore. She lunged out at it. She swung her blade in the air. It flashed in the moonlight. The wolf as a predator it was snapped at her. It missed. She didn't. Her blade found the wolf's fresh and it hit it to a tee. The wolf yelped in pain. She smiled. She twisted her blade to the side to case the wolf more pain. Its blood dripped on her arms and down onto the forest floor. If it could scream it did. She wanted it to suffer as her grandmother did.
The mighty wolf that killed her grandmother was bleeding because of her; was dying because of her. She couldn't help but feel satisfied. She pulled her blade out of its flank. More blood flowed from the wound. The wolf's muscled legs shook. She wanted it to feel as helpless as she did that night. It fell. Its body crumpled to the floor. It wasn't enough. She stabbed it again. The wolf shook one last time; its last exhale then it died. Red got up and looked at the murderer. She smiled. She gripped her blade and pulled it out the lifeless body. She smiled as its blood still dripped from her blade.
She rolled the body over so she could glare into its red eyes. Her eyes meet the wolf’s gray eyes. Red screamed into the humid air. She killed the wrong wolf. Frustration pricked at her insides. She fell to the ground crying. She felt so guilty for what happened to her grandmother and even more so that she still hadn’t found her killer. She’d been looking for about a year. She would never avenge her grandmother. Over the year she had killed hundreds of wolves even so much you could hear the wolves talking about her. The stories they told each other through their howls in the middle of the night. The story of her would strike fear into the wolves’ cubs. Elder wolves would gather their pack around on a new moon and tell the story of The Girl in the Red Cloak.
“They say there is a human girl whose grandmother was murdered by a heartless black wolf. And so on nights when the moon is lit she stalks the forest in search of the killer. If you walk the trees at night without the pack she will single you out and attack. You will not be able to stop the human girl. She will be stronger and faster for she is filled with anger and loss. No instincts can compare to the strength of human hurt. She will attack. She will succeed. They say the reason for the human’s cloak being the deep rich red for it is soaked with the blood of her victims. And each one she kills she howls into the night like the wolf. Yet her howl is a screech. Her howl is a sign she lost; that she will still kill for she killed another innocent and the murderous wolf still haunts her mind and the forest.”
All the cubs would curl up against the bellies of their mothers and the mothers would snuggle closer to their husbands. The male wolf would straighten up and act if the story had not chilled then to the bone yet it had. They thought about their pack; their family. They thought what would happen if the human cornered them. Red. The word haunted the pack. It haunted all packs. That’s exactly what she wanted. She wanted fear to spread throughout the wolves and hopefully to her grandmother’s killer.
