RED RIDING HOOD PART 4

‘Wait, wait!’ Rhea stepped between Hunter and the wolf, arms spread wide like she was trying to stop a tidal wave with a pair of spoons. ‘Before anyone gets magnificently violent, can we just talk about this?’

Hunter paused mid-flex, one bicep still bulging impressively. ‘TALK? There is no talking with BEASTS! Only MAGNIFICENT HUNTING!’

            ‘Actually,’ Rhea said quickly, ‘I was thinking more like a business proposition. A merger, if you will. You want the wolf gone; the wolf wants not to be gone. I want everyone to stop shouting. Surely there’s a compromise? What if instead of killing him, we… relocated him? Sent him to a nice forest preserve where he can live out his days, maybe take up watercolour painting. You’d still be heroes, just… conservation heroes.’

Red tilted her head. ‘What kind of proposition?’

The wolf looked at her gratefully, but Hunter scoffed so hard his wolf-head hat nearly fell off.           ‘PREPOSTEROUS! The wolf must be MAGNIFICENTLY ELIMINATED and filled with stones! It is the natural order! The circle of MAGNIFICENT LIFE!’

            ‘But why?’ Rhea pressed. ‘He’s the last one. You’ve already won.’

            ‘The point,’ Red interrupted, her voice suddenly losing all its bubble, ‘is completion. Grandma has emphasized that the harvesting of wolves must follow a strict production schedule to ensure that each phase of the operation stays on track.’

Something in that phrase made Rhea’s stomach twist. ‘Schedule for what, exactly?’

Red and Hunter exchanged a look that spoke volumes, none of them good.

            ‘Oh, you sweet little witch,’ Red said, and her smile was all sharp edges now. ‘Did you really think this was about safety?’

The wolf’s ears flattened. ‘I knew it,’ he growled softly.

            ‘More to what?’ Rhea demanded.

Hunter struck another pose, this one conveying villainous pride. ‘BEHOLD! The greatest hunting operation in the MAGNIFICENT HISTORY OF HUNTING!’

            ‘We don’t just hunt wolves,’ Red explained cheerfully, as if discussing jam recipes. ‘We farm them. Lure them in with the story, then trap them in Grandma’s hut. It’s an inevitable plot point, so we use it to generate fresh stock. The fur trade is very lucrative.’

Rhea’s blood turned to ice water. ‘You’ve been using the story as… bait?’

            ‘For generations!’ Red clapped her hands. ‘Red Riding Hood walks through the forest, wolves follow her to Grandma’s house, and we spring the trap! It’s brilliant!’

            ‘MAGNIFICENTLY brilliant!’ Hunter added.

The wolf beside Rhea was shaking with rage. ‘My pack… my family… they thought they were following the story, too.’

            ‘They were!’ Red giggled. ‘Right into our nets. Oh, don’t look so upset. It’s just business. Supply and demand. Grandma makes the most beautiful fur coats.’

Something snapped inside Rhea. All her life, people had told her she wasn’t magical enough. But this? This was wrong on a level that made her magic sing with fury.

            ‘You know what?’ she said, her voice dangerously quiet. ‘I changed my mind about that deal.’

She stepped back, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the wolf. ‘I’m with him.’

Red’s expression shifted to annoyance. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. You’re human. You’re on our side.’

            ‘I’m a witch,’ Rhea corrected, ‘and I pick my own sides.’

Hunter laughed, a sound like rocks falling down a mountain. ‘ONE LITTLE WITCH AND ONE MANGY WOLF? This will be MAGNIFICENTLY easy!’

He reached for his crossbow, but Rhea was already moving. Her magic surged through her with perfect clarity.

            ‘Water, BOIL!’ she shouted, pointing at a nearby stream.

This time, the water didn’t just boil—it exploded upward in a geyser of scalding steam that sent Hunter diving for cover and flash-cooked a small, unfortunate fish, which landed perfectly plated on a lily pad.             ‘MAGNIFICENTLY HOT!’ he yelped.

            ‘Roots, DANCE!’ Rhea commanded, and the forest floor erupted. Thick vines burst from the earth, writhing like angry snakes. They immediately tangled Hunter’s boots, sending him crashing to the ground in a very un-magnificent heap. The roots seemed to take personal offence to his footwear and began trying to unlace them.

Red snarled and pulled out a silver knife. ‘Fine! We’ll do this the hard way!’

She lunged, but the wolf intercepted her. They rolled across the clearing, a flurry of fur and red wool.

That’s when Grandma arrived.

She came crashing through the trees, no longer a sweet old lady but a one-woman army in leather armour made of wolf pelts. She wielded a massive needle the size of a sword, trailing thread that gleamed like silver wire.

            ‘Nobody,’ she snarled, ‘interferes with my business!’

She swung the giant needle like a spear. Rhea barely dodged.

            ‘MAGNIFICENTLY TERRIFYING GRANDMOTHER!’ Hunter called out, still wrestling with the sentient roots.

The battle became a chaotic dance. Red fired arrows with disturbing accuracy. The wolf darted between trees. Rhea cast spells, some working perfectly, others going wildly wrong.

            ‘Fire, LIGHT!’ she shouted, trying to create a distraction.

Instead of a small flame, she set an entire tree ablaze. The wolf yelped and dove away.

            ‘Sorry!’ Rhea called. ‘Still working on the precision part!’

An arrow whistled past her ear. ‘You can’t save him, little witch,’ Red called. ‘This is how the story ends.’

            ‘Then we’ll write a new one!’ Rhea shot back. She aimed at Red’s bow. ‘Wood, BREAK!’

The bow shattered, and three nearby trees came crashing down. Hunter had to roll frantically to avoid being crushed. ‘MAGNIFICENTLY DANGEROUS MAGIC!’ he complained.

Grandma was closing in, her needle-spear gleaming. ‘Hold still, little witch, and let me add you to my collection!’

That’s when the wolf leapt between them, taking the needle-point in his shoulder with a sharp gasp. ‘No! Leave her alone. Take me, but let her go.’

            ‘NO!’ Rhea screamed. ‘You don’t get to sacrifice yourself! That’s exactly the kind of story-thinking that got us into this mess!’

Her magic exploded outward in a wave of pure, chaotic energy. Roots erupted. Branches wove themselves into nets. Flowers bloomed, releasing clouds of pollen that made everyone sneeze uncontrollably. And on the wall of the distant hut, Grandma’s needlepoint pillow began to unravel, its motto re-stitching itself into Adopt a Wolf Today.

Most importantly, every strand of silver thread in the clearing came alive. It writhed and twisted, binding all three villains in an increasingly complex web.

            ‘What—ACHOO—is happening?!’ Red gasped, struggling.

            ‘MAGNIFICENTLY—ACHOO—TANGLED!’ Hunter agreed.

Grandma tried to cut through the threads, but more silver strands kept appearing, wrapping around her wrists and ankles with the focused intent of a master weaver.

Rhea stood in the centre of the beautiful chaos, magic crackling around her, finally feeling like a real witch.

            ‘I’ll tell you what’s happening,’ she said, grinning fiercely. ‘The story is changing.’

The wolf, wounded but alive, looked at her with awe. ‘You did it.’

            ‘We did it,’ Rhea corrected. ‘You chose to try something different. I chose to help. Maybe real change in stories, just like in life, only happens when we find the courage to cooperate.’

The silver threads finished their work, cocooning the three hunters. They’d be trapped, but not hurt—more like being grounded than imprisoned.

            ‘This isn’t over!’ Red shouted from inside her silver prison. ‘Stories don’t just change!’

            ‘This one does,’ Rhea said simply.

The forest around them began to shift and shimmer, as if reality were being rewritten in real time. The colours became brighter, the air cleaner. Birds that had fled began to return, singing songs of celebration.

And then, in the distance, Rhea saw it: a pool of white light, swirling gently between the trees. The same kind of light she’d fallen through when she tumbled into the book.

            ‘Is that…?’ she whispered.

The wolf nodded, smiling despite his wound. ‘Your way home. The story’s complete now. Different than it was, but complete.’

Rhea felt a tug in her chest, gentle but insistent—the pull of her own world. But she hesitated. ‘What about you? What happens to the Last Wolf now?’

The wolf’s eyes sparkled with something new hope, maybe, or possibility. ‘Now I get to find out. Maybe I’ll take up poetry, poems to the moon. Or find other stories where wolves don’t have to be monsters.’

Rhea grinned, tugging at her braid, which was slowly unravelling under the moonlight. ‘Then don’t forget to send me your first poem. They’re usually the worst—but also the funniest.’ She pulled off her ridiculous pink cloak and tossed it to him. ‘Here. In case you need a disguise for your new adventures.’

The wolf caught it and laughed—a sound like wind through leaves. ‘Thank you, Rhea. For showing me that stories can change.’

            ‘And thank you for letting me help change one,’ she replied, as another twist in her braid loosened, falling straight against her shoulder.

The tug became stronger now. The braids she wore unravelled, knot by knot, each release glowing faintly as though the moon itself were undoing them. With the final knot undone, Rhea’s hair spilt free. Her whole body shimmered, silver outlined. She took one last look at the transformed forest, at the wolf who was no longer bound by his story.

With a final, shimmering pop, Rhea was unceremoniously ejected from the book. She tumbled out of the sky, landing in a heap on her familiar cottage porch with a sound like a sack of turnips hitting a floorboard. The ancient storybook, still glowing faintly, slammed shut beside her head, sending a puff of dust that made her sneeze. Brushing a stray leaf from her nose and straightening her now-free, slightly tangled hair, Rhea picked herself up. Her knees ached, her hat was askew, and a pinecone was, inexplicably, stuck to her collar. But as she surveyed her messy landing, a triumphant grin spread across her face. She adjusted her hat, smoothed down her dress, and walked towards her hut with a newfound swagger, already humming a tune that sounded suspiciously like a wolf’s lullaby. As she crossed the threshold, she paused and glanced back at the closed storybook, her heart swelling with the knowledge that she had changed more than a tale—she had changed herself. For the first time, Rhea truly felt she belonged in both worlds.