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Of Red Capes and Blinding Storms	By : Ignacia Category: > Little Red Riding Hood Views: 36709 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Little Red Riding Hood, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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“I suppose this is where I leave you,” Tyrone said to Red as they stood on the bridge.

The two had stopped there to rest and talk a little bit longer before they went their separate ways. Red found Tyrone to be a truly fascinating creature. Ever since he was a babe he had to fend for himself in these dark woods, and he had tangled with every kind of situation you could imagine. Scars adorned his body from fights with other wolves, bears, and even the occasional wild boar. It was a shame to have to go after getting to know him so well.

“Will we ever meet again,” Red asked him.

Tyrone smiled at her question. “Something tells me we will,” he said pleasantly.

She just smiled at him and curtsied. “Thank you once again, Tyrone,” she said.

“The pleasure was all mine, Miss Red,” he said, taking her delicate hand in his giant paw and kissing it.

Red could only blush at the chivalrous gesture. She smiled and nodded to him, then turned and left.

“Goodbye,” he said, watching her cross the last half of the bridge.

“Goodbye,” she said over her shoulder.

She quickened her pace with a happy skip. Soon, she was no longer able to hear the river, meaning she was almost to her dear grandmother’s house. She frowned though, remembering how she lost her basket during the storm. A nice batch of muffins would have done both of them good. But there was no use crying over spilt milk. They were only pastries after all, and she could have died in that storm had it not been for Tyrone. She smiled thinking of him, and almost didn’t realize that she had just been addressed by a new voice.

“Hello, little girl,” said the woodsman.

“Oh, hello,” she said, looking a little startled. She looked him up and down, noticing his strong muscular stature and how he carried his mighty axe as though it were as light as cotton.

“I hope I didn’t frighten you,” he said in a thick Scottish accent.

“Oh no, I was just thinking,” she said, giving him an embarrassed smile.

“You know, it is not safe for a wee lass like yourself to be wondering through these woods alone. Don’t you know the place is teeming with hungry wolves,” he asked her.

“Yes, I know. I’ve already met one. He saved my life in the storm last night and he was kind enough to escort me to the river,” she said, pointing over her shoulder.

“Goodness gracious, child! You need to be more careful. It sounds like you met Beast,” he said worriedly.

“Beast? What do you mean,” she asked.

“Beast is a wolf in these parts known to lure his prey with kindness and chivalry but then turn on them when they least expect it. It’s a game to him,” the woodsman warned.

“That couldn’t be,” Red said uneasily, “He was as kind as could be. If he wanted to eat me, he could have done it at anytime.”

“Was he wearing a blue coat,” he asked.

“Well… yes, he was,” she said, thinking back.

“Aye, that’s him lassie,” he said, giving her a warning glance, “Maybe it would be best if I took you the rest of the way to your destination.”

“No thank you, that won’t be necessary,” she stated, a little indignant that he had accused Tyrone of such a horrible crime.

“Alright then, I just hope you know what you are doing,” the woodsman said sincerely. “Be safe, little girl.”

“I will be,” she said, turning her nose up to him. She didn’t think it was fair to say such things about a kind wolf like Tyrone. But as she walked and the sound of the woodsman’s axe faded into the distance, she began to think about what he had told her. Could it be true? Was Tyrone merely playing with her? It was very uncharacteristic for a wolf to be so gallant. These thoughts buzzed around in her head, making her a bit more nervous. She jumped at every little twig snap or bush rustle heard in the trees. She quickened her steps, her heart racing from anxiety.

“I must go on,” she told herself out loud, “But maybe it would have been a good idea to let the woodsman escort me.”

After some walking, she finally saw Grandma’s house at the top of the hill. Relieved and overjoyed, she ran the rest of the way, being careful not to slip in the fresh mud. She approached the door with bated breath and knocked.

“Grandmother, it’s me,” she shouted through the door, “May I come in?”

Red waited for an answer, but there was only silence. She knocked again.

“Grandma, are you home,” she asked, even louder then before.

Without hesitation, she turned the doorknob and easily entered. It was strange that the door wasn’t locked, but Red only gave it a passing thought. She stepped into the warm, cozy cottage and looked around. The smell of fresh flowers and bread lingered in the air. The chairs and furniture were neatly organized and cleaned, just as they always had been ever since Red was a baby. Nothing seemed out of place, except for one thing. Grandma was no where to be found.
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Of Red Capes and Blinding Storms