“The what?” Ryder couldn’t help but laugh. The man was obviously out of his mind. The Big Bad Wolf? What an odd thing to say. “Look, I don’t know why you’re here, but—”
A loud snarl caught her attention, and she looked past the man, to the trees at the edge of Grandmother’s property. Out of the Western Woods, a pack of wolves moved in on the cottage, backs hunched and teeth bared. There were small gray wolves, large brown wolves, and every size and color in between.
Ryder took a fearful step back, and the stranger laughed. She tried to slam the door on him, but he held out his arm to prevent her from doing so, and he was much stronger than her.
“Ryder?” Grandmother called out, and she heard the scrape of her chair on the floor. Ryder kept her gaze on the man in front of her, her heart pounding frantically as the wolves moved closer, eliminating any route of escape for them. The shuffle of Grandmother’s feet came to a sudden stop, and Ryder heard her gasp. “Wolfe!”
“You know this guy?” Ryder asked, looking back and forth between the man and the wolves, unsure of which one was more concerning at the moment.
“Hello, Serena,” he replied, looking over Ryder’s shoulder. His grin became more sinister, if that were even possible. “It’s been a long time.”
“You’re not welcome here,” Grandmother said, her voice more firm than usual. “The Western Woods don’t belong to you.”
“Oh, I know…” Wolfe sighed, chewing his nails again, the same twisted smile on his face. “That’s why I’m here to take them by force.”
Before she could react, he grabbed Ryder and twisted her around, and she screamed in surprise. He held her against him, his arm tightly around her throat. She choked a bit, trying to pry him off, but his grip was fierce.
“Let her go,” Grandmother demanded, but Ryder knew it was meaningless. Wolfe’s intentions were more sinister than simply harming her, and she wouldn’t do anything to make that happen.
Ryder tried to blink away the darkness that crept into her vision, but there wasn’t anything she could do. A rushing sound filled her ears. Was he going to strangle her while Grandmother watched?
“So, what are you going to do, Red Warden?” Wolfe asked with a laugh. He tightened his grip on Ryder, and reached out to her grandmother with his free hand. “Renounce your Guardianship over the Western Woods and turn them over to me.”
“Why would I do that?” she asked, looking completely disgusted with the man. “My family has helped protect these woods for centuries, and that isn’t about to change.”
“Then you won’t have a family left to protect it!”
Wolfe released Ryder, and she collapsed at his feet, gasping and coughing. Before she could even catch her breath, she was struck hard on the back of the head. The only thing she felt before darkness completely consumed her was the cold hard floor against the side of her face.
***
Ryder sat in her father’s armchair, curled up by the fire with book, while her mother paced back and forth at the front door.
“Mother, please, sit down,” she pleaded without glancing up from her book. She could see her out of the corner of her eye, and it was terribly distracting. “I’m trying to read.”
“Your father should have been home last night.”
“It’s snowing.” Ryder sighed and tucked the book down between the cushion and the arm of the chair. Reading would have to wait. “Six months of Winter have barely started, and you’re acting like this doesn’t happen every year.”
Mother continued to pace and Ryder shook her head, stretching her arms with a groan. It was that way almost every Winter. Father was rarely ever home on time.
“Maybe I should go look for him,” Mother suggested, glancing up at the old grandfather clock beside the door. It hadn’t worked in years, and they hadn’t had the time to have it sent out for repairs. Checking the time was just an old habit she’d never broken out of. “There are still a couple hours left of light.”
“You can’t go out there alone.” Ryder got up from her father’s old chair, brushing the lint off her pants. It happened any time someone sat there, but Father refused to get a new one. Ryder didn’t mind anyway. He traveled often, and it helped her tolerate his absence. She grabbed her old brown cloak from where it was hanging by the front door and wrapped it over her shoulders. “Let’s go.”
On horseback, Ryder and her mother made better ground than they ever would have been able to on foot. Luckily the snow was light and fluffy, so they didn’t have much trouble walking through it.
The air was quiet, and there was hardly any wind. The snow fell slowly, undisturbed, and every few minutes Ryder would have to brush the glittering dust from her shoulders. Everything around them was pure white and untouched, save for a few footprints of the creatures that made the Western Woods their home.
“I can’t imagine what’s keeping him,” Mother said, breaking the deep silence of the Western Woods. “There’s no ice, and the horses aren’t having any trouble.”
“Maybe he just stayed an extra night,” Ryder suggested, “to wait until it stopped snowing.”
“But why wouldn’t he send word? He always contacts the Post if he’s going to be later than expected.”
Ryder just let out a long breath. There was only one phone, and it was miles away, in the small town at the edge of the Western Woods. For all they knew, Father had called, and the Post just hadn’t passed the message along yet. Or maybe the phone wasn’t working. That happened a lot when the weather was bad.
Ryder’s horse stopped short while she was lost in thought, and she was jerked forward. She had to grab the creature’s mane tightly to prevent herself from being lurched forward out of the saddle. It let out a loud snort, walking backwards from where she wanted him to go.
“What’s the matter with you?” Ryder tried to nudge him forward with her foot, but then Mother’s horse started acting the same way. They did their best to get them under control, but the creature grew more and more restless. Eventually, they gave up fighting, and left the horses tied to a tree before trudging forward on foot without them.
“Unbelievable,” Mother muttered to herself, holding up her skirt as best she could as she dragged her legs through the deep piles of snow. “When I get my hands on that man…”
Ryder couldn’t help but smirk a little. Mother insisted on dressing like a “proper lady,” which meant dresses and skirts, all the time. She had tried to force it on Ryder, but Father allowed her to wear men’s clothing, especially pants. It was better in the winter, and especially in the Western Woods, where it snowed six months straight and skirts were impractical.
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Mother stopped short, much like the horses had, and Ryder nearly toppled over her. She quickly stepped around her, stumbling forward and landing on her knees in the snow.
“Mother!” Ryder got to her feet with a noise breath of frustration, brushing the snow off her legs, which were now cold and soaking wet. “What are you doing? You can’t just—”
The look of sheer horror on Mother’s face cut off her frustration, and Ryder turned around to see what had her so terrified. A small puff of hot breath escaped into the air from Ryder’s mouth as her face mirrored her mother’s expression.
An enormous black wolf took up most of the path, its fur matted to its face with blood as it tore into the flesh a large brown horse. Bright red streaks in the otherwise untouched snow showed that the poor thing had been dragged around, putting up a fight before meeting its demise. There were bloody paw prints going off in different directions too, as if smaller wolves had already taken their share and run off.
Mother’s gaze darted frantically around the scene, and landed on the saddle that had been torn from the horse, its belongings scattered all around. It was an old, handmade saddle, with small snowflake designs carved into the leather. She let out a noise that was half gasp, half sob as she covered her mouth, watching the wolf gnaw on the carcass of her husband’s horse.
It caught the attention of the beast, and it snarled at the two women. It bared its bloody teeth, more blood dripping from the corners of its mouth.
Ryder’s heart felt like it was going to pound right through the front of her chest. One of the wolf’s eyes was sliced clean through from a large gash on its face, probably from her father’s hunting knife.
“Ryder, look out!”
She screamed and put her arms up to protect herself as the wolf rushed at her, but no pain came. It ran past her, so close that she felt its coarse fur brush against her skin, and it vanished into the cover of the Western Woods. She stood up straight, staring blankly at the bloody scene before her while Mother fell to her knees and sobbed.
There was no body to bury, but the townsfolk held a funeral anyway, and put up a gravestone in honor of her father’s memory. Ryder stood at the front of the crowd of mourners, her face hidden by the hood of her black cloak, beside her sobbing mother and grandmother. A few tears rolled down Ryder’s face, but she stayed still and silent, her gaze fixed on the stone.
Luke Hood
1870-1915
He who gave so much
And demanded so little
She didn’t listen to eulogy, nor the stories of her father’s life. All she could think of was the wolf, and the blood that tainted the Western Woods. She had nightmares about it. It was surreal, like some awful, twisted joke Father was playing, and would emerge from the crowd in disguise, with the same mischievous grin on his face he’d always had.
After the funeral, Ryder hung back, watching her distraught family walk the path ahead of her. Mother had lost a husband, and Grandmother had lost her only child. It was all too terrible to understand.
When Mother and Grandmother went inside, she stayed out on the porch. She sat on the swing Father had built when she was child, resting her boots against the porch railing to push it. She closed her eyes, trying to relax while she swung softly.
A small noise out by the chicken coop, followed by a ruffling of feathers, caught Ryder’s attention, and she quickly jumped to her feet to investigate. Fearing it might be more wolves, she armed herself with the only thing not completely buried in the snow, a large stick that leaned against the house. She held it out in front of her cautiously as she made her way out back to the coop, ready to strike anything that might wish to harm her.
“Hey!” she called out to the large white dog, pawing at the door to the chicken coop. It wasn’t a wolf, but it was big enough to pass for one.
Its attention immediately snapped to Ryder, its ears perking up. It ran towards her, and she took a few fearful steps back. It stopped in front of her, wagging its tail with excitement.
She was frozen, unsure what to do about the creature. Did it belong to someone? Where had it come from? It jumped around in the snow in front of her, eyeing the stick in her hands, its exited pants coming out in small puffs of air.
“Get out of here,” Ryder demanded, nudging it with the stick. It immediately clamped its jaws down on the wood and began tugging playfully. It was strong, but Ryder held firm. “Let go!”
Sighing loudly in frustration, Ryder released the stick, and the dog jumped around with glee. Then it laid near her feet, happily gnawing on its new prize and wagging its tail, seeming very content.
“I don’t want to play,” she told it. She snatched the stick back, in case the creature’s demeanor suddenly changed. It was hard to tell with other people’s animals. “Just stay away from our chickens!”
The dog got up and barked, still wanting to play, but then a long, high-pitched whistle filled the air, echoing from far off in the Western Woods. It whined, tilting its head toward the sound, but then looked back at Ryder. Its blue eyes unnerved her for some reason, and she took a step back, clutching the stick across her chest for safety.
Another long whistle filled the air, and the dog bolted off into the woods. Ryder let out a long breath of relief and dropped the stick before heading back into the house.
She stomped the snow off her botts on the mat by the front door, then kicked them off and hung up her cloak. She just wanted the day to be over. Before she could go to her room, though, her mother called to her.
“Ryder, come here, please,” she said, motioning for her to sit between herself and Grandmother. Ryder sat in her father’s old armchair instead, tucking her feet underneath her for warmth and comfort. “Your Grandmother has something for you.”
“It was meant to be yours when you turned twenty-one,” Grandmother said quietly, picking at the twine wrapped around the parcel on her lap. “However, I’ve decided to give to you now, given the circumstances. You’re already twenty anyway.”
“What it is?” Ryder questioned as Grandmother handed it over. It was soft, and the brown paper crinkled loudly with every movement. She used her finger to tear open the side, and the material slid easily out onto her lap. It was bright red, and softer than anything she’d ever touched. Toward the bottom of the fabric, it was darker and a bit tattered, but otherwise in good, sturdy condition. “Father’s cloak?”
“Serena…” Mother let out a noisy breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’ve told you about this! I don’t want my daughter to—”
“Yes, it was Luke’s,” Grandmother said with a nod, ignoring Ryder’s mother. “As I said, it was meant to be passed down to you when you turned twenty-one. Try it on.”
“Serena!”
“Be quiet, Meredith!” Grandmother demanded, glaring at her daughter-in-law. “All I’m doing is giving her the cloak. Don’t turn this into an argument about something else. It belongs to Ryder!”
A bit confused by their bickering, but not wanting to get involved, Ryder got up and draped the cloak around her shoulders.
“You look just like your father,” Grandmother said, wiping a tear from her eye.
Ryder remembered Father always wearing the cloak, especially when he travelled for business. He’d been wearing it the last time he left home, and the thought made her skin crawl. She quickly removed it and tossed it unceremoniously onto the armchair.
“Where did you get that?”
“The Sheriff found it at the Post,” Grandmother explained. “The Postmaster said Luke ran off without it. Apparently he had some urgent business to attend to, but didn’t say what it was.
“Excuse me,” Ryder said softly. She took the cloak and headed up to her room. When she reached the top of the stairs, which felt like it was many more steps that usual, she exhaled a long breath.
She froze on the landing, her gaze fixed on the door at the end of the hallway. It was carved with the same snowflake design that decorated the front of Grandmother’s house, and Ryder wondered if it was some kind of family emblem.
Carefully choosing her steps, she made her way down the hall. Mother would be furious if she knew she was sneaking into her room. As a child, she’d figured out where to step to avoid creaks in the floorboards, allowing her to sneak up on Father. The thought of it made a smile tug at the corners of Ryder’s mouth, but it quickly faded. They would never play those games again.
She took a deep breath before pushing the door open, a rush of warm air from the fireplace greeting her and wrapping her in the scent of her parents’ bedroom. The same scent that filled her nose when Father used to hug her.
Memories flooded her mind as she ran her fingers across the top of the dresser. Everything of Father’s was just as he’d left it. She came across and old picture frame and picked it up, brushing a bit of dust away. Mother had been neglecting the housework a bit in the weeks leading up to the funeral.
Ryder finally smiled as she examined the old photograph. Father had taken them deep into the Western Woods to a lake, and they had gone swimming in the summer. The photo was of him pushing a much younger Ryder on a rope swing, trying to coax her into the water while she clung to it for dear life.
A few teardrops fell on the glass, blurring the imaging of Father’s happy face. She nearly dropped it when mother’s shrill voice pierced the silence.
“Ryder!”