She strode her way on the pebble and dirt road as she had done so many times.

Today, the cold breeze sang among the branches, a hallowing melody that enticed her into slowing her step and breathing in deeply the scents of the elder wood.

Tightening the red blood cloak around her shoulders, the young woman felt more at ease under its warming protection. She was almost tempted to stop in this place and savor one of the fruits she carried in the basket.

“Remember dear, you must not eat any of the apples. They are for the celebrations of house Fylmoth, every last one of them.” Her father’s voice warned her several times before leaving.

She laughed at the absurd idea and playfully kicked some of the damp and rotten leaves around her shoes. Stubbornly, they didn’t fly too far, a silent protest for this kind of treatment.

A rustling behind a tree made the woman turn her head sharply.

Few of the sun rays from this gray morning dared pierce the clouds and even fewer fell upon this place, as a result, she squinted for a better vision but failed to improve her chances.

Her eyes tried to find something they could recognize in the thick undergrowth, but as she looked no sound nor movement made themselves manifest.

“A little squirrel, I bet. I wouldn’t mind one accompanying me today!” She added the last louder, hoping one would hear and come along with her. The little rascals liked to follow her the days she wished to be alone.

Cocking her head and awaiting a minute she was disappointed that there was no answer. For how could they? ‘They are squirrels, you silly girl.’ She internally mocked herself and then laughed again. Oh the ideas that got in her head sometimes!

She turned back to the path towards the Fylmoth state, however, she did not advance a single step in the direction of the large, furry figure standing a short ten meters ahead.

Two orange and beady eyes examined her from a canine skull that was bigger than her chest. There was hunger in them, but the creature did not bear its teeth.

Frozen in the middle of the road, she made a convincing impersonation of a marble statue. Soon she became more aware of the cold pressing against her skin and slowly moved her free hand towards one of the silver brooches in her chest.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Her hunter growled deeply, making her gasp involuntarily and stop the motion. It still did not move.

The first attempt to speak failed, as her mind was transfixed by the penetrating eyes and the powerful muscles in the animal’s neck. It would tear her apart if it desired ...but did it?

She tried again.

“Ah… hello, what do you want?”

The enormous admirer still refused to answer or at least, deign her worthy of showing its teeth. Instead, it sniffed in her direction, unblinking to the strong wind that now howled between them.

Her mind raced for a solution, but found nothing. This monster, likely to be several hundred pounds heavier than she, made her poor heart jolt and anguish behind her bosom and finally surrendering to the moment, with both her mind and her face blank like a white canvas she gave a step back.

And the creature presented the sharp brushes it would use to paint on her.

It opened watering jaws in a blood curling growl, lunging ahead on a single movement.

A gust of wind teared the cloak away from her body as not a fiber of her being reacted to anything that happened and the cape was pushed forward into the monster, embracing it in a red halo that foretold the next seconds.

The bloated sack fell on the ground with a loud slam where it whimpered and convulsed savagely. It contracted on itself, crushing the contents while it snapped bones and refused to give away a single thread under claw and fang.

She swallowed alleviated with a hand on her chest as she watched the great bulk the size of a horse reducing into a small bundle with every crack. The painful yelps had ceased now and it sounded like branches breaking under her steps.

The cloak finally returned to its original size and she walked ahead, suppressing the sticky nausea that had accumulated in the back of her mouth during the last minute. She couldn’t leave this thing here, if this was any indicator it wouldn’t be the last.

Her fingers closed with hesitation around the crimson cloak, but as always, it was completely dry. If anything, it felt warmer than before.

She shook it while looking away and wrinkling her nose, the clattering of bones dropping into the forest floor made her close her eyes with force and invigorate her efforts to whip it clean.

Making a point to not look down she draped the cloak back around her slender body and adjusted the brooch. Yes, it did feel warmer.

“Oh father, what did you do to this one?” She whispered to the three spheres surrounded by an inverted triangle that composed the silvery piece.

She smoothed the wrinkles in her dress and dusted off the cloak, knowing it was not necessary even if it fell into the mud but doing it anyway to still her hands. Breathing in deeply, the young woman restarted her walk towards the goal.

After a few minutes she spotted the large manor-fort in the distance. Made of stone and white wood, its tower dominated the view for miles.

“He could deliver the poisoned apples by himself but I always have to do it.” She grumbled and noticing the nobles near the entrance she prepared to don a more human appearance that would not give too much away.