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Back then, Red was so little.
Most of Red’s memories from her early childhood are feint, but she remembers that day in the snowy woods with a cold clarity. Memories don’t form in the mind clearly until a certain age. Her mind clings to otherwise inconsequential specifics. The fraying wicker of the basket she was holding, and what was in it. Walking into her grandmother’s cottage, the slight differences in placement of items in the last decade. The figure in the bed. She realizes now that back then she had yet to develop a strong sense of recognition, but she can see it now. The eyes. The teeth. She can see it as if she’s still there.
But she isn’t there anymore, in a way. She’s currently in her grandmother’s cottage, who is aging but still alive. She is staring out the window as her tea cools down. A Shepard boy was killed by a wolf yesterday. He was ten, twice the age of Red when she encountered such a thing.
And yet all she can think is He was so little.
A series of girls were visiting Red's Grandmother as well. It was meant to be a short visit, to thank her and Red for saving them from yet another monster in the woods. because that’s where the women who saved them lived. Red and Grandmother had been helping girls for some time.Red and Grandmother had been helping girls for some time. It had began when they shooed away yet another creature after it fell down their chimney. Red was far from the first or last victim of the supernatural creatures of the woods, but she was one of the few survivors. But what she and her Grandmother had now was experience, and they used that experience to help others.
And yet, Red stayed where she was at the table, allowing the girls to carry out the conversations with her Grandmother instead of her. The cottage was not very big at all, so she could see the bed from where she was sitting. It was neat.
Sometimes, on dark cold nights, she hears animals outside. Sometimes those animals are wolves. When she does, she's in the bed, with Grandmother at her back. Things had been washed many times over, but she still expects to find black hair somewhere under her pillow. Sometimes she confuses it for the darkness.
The eyes. The ears. The teeth.
Once the other girls bid their goodbyes, Red put on her shawl, a dark red, nearly brown one. Her red one with the cap on it was tucked neatly away in one of her Grandmother’s wooden chests. She didn't want to be spotted so easily anymore.
“Grandmother,” said Red, “I think I’d like to visit The Huntsman.”
The two took a stroll in the woods. The sun was still out. The snow was thick on the ground, and the sun made it almost bright. Red paid attention to the woods surrounding her. She heard birds. Small animals. No animals too big. She hoped.
“How are your parents?” asked Red’s grandmother.
If Red’s parents were doing great, Red would not have chosen to stay at Grandmother’s. Physically, they were well, but they seemed to be living different lives from Red. She did not like to be home when she did not feel wanted.
“They’re well,” said Red. It wasn’t exactly a lie.
"That's nice to hear, dear." said Grandmother, though they could tell in her voice she was writing it off. ""It was an awful thing, what happened to that boy," continued Grandmother, and Red knew what she was speaking of, "Not every tragedy can be prevented. If you need to, you can stay as long as you like."
Red appreciated such a thing.
Upon reaching the Huntsman’s cottage, as Red helped her Grandmother into the door, she could see the Huntsman's apprentice outside. Meryl had only been apprenticing so long but already had the upper body strength to prove it, though it wasn't always obvious under her coat. Red would have greeted her, but there was also another girl there who Meryl was speaking with. She had long brown hair, and a royal blue cloak. Red did not know her, and she didn’t look to be from around here.
The two went inside. On one of the tables there was a small wooden bird. It may have been a jay or cardinal, but whatever it must have been was painted red, so she knew who it was for. The Huntsman usually performed small deeds like this for Red. She wondered if he did the same for Meryl or the other young girls living near here. But ever since, the incident, the Huntsman would visit Grandmother's cottage for sweets or have a more special gift prepared for Red's birthday. Once he had given her a handmade clock, and Red almost turned it down.
"Go walk Meryl and her friend home." said The Huntsman. He was by the fire helping her Grandmother to her usual seat.
Red wasn't even required to remove her shawl before she stepped back outside.
"Red!" Meryl said when she turned around grinning.
Ever since Red comforted Meryl when she had romantic trouble with a boy who transformed into a an owl and flew away, she had been turning to Red for advice. As if Red wasn't only a smidge older, and as if she had any romantic advice to give.
"Hello, Meryl," Red looked at the girl in the blue cloak. Red did not know her name, so she just waved. The girl seemed to be gravitating towards her friend.
"Red, there's something I wanted to ask you about, but I wasn't sure you could keep it a secret." said Meryl.
Oh great. Red thought. "What kind of secret?" Red asked.
The girl gripped onto Meryl's arm tightly, but Meryl ignored her.
"You're always dealing with supernatural things. And you know a thing or two about wolves."
Her blood ran cold.
"...W-Well," said Red, attempting to stay polite, "I don't deal with them on a daily basis. And I've only dealt with a wolf...once."
"Yes, but once is better than none. And also, having experiences with the creatures in the woods in general is very helpful."
Red turned towards the girl near Meryl.
"You likely already know I'm called Red," said Red, “What is your name?”
“…It’s Moure.” the girl said.
"Moure, you don't seem to be from around here. How old are you?”
“Well, that’s nothing for you to be concerned about.” said Moure.
“She’s fourteen.” Meryl said.
Moure pouted at that.
So she was a teenager, younger than both Red and Meryl. Red, though she did not feel it, was as well. It was only three years, yet it felt like so much longer, and felt instant protection over her.
Meryl pulled out Moure’s wrist. There was a dark, crescent shaped scar just below her hand. He flipped her arm over and a similar shape was on the other side. It was a bite. Red gasped. Moure snatched her hand away.
“She’s cursed.” said Meryl.
“It’s only a curse if it results in bad things!” said Moure, “This has been nothing but fortune for me. I’m happy as a wolf.”
“As a wolf?” Red asked, trying to keep her voice down. She navigated the other girls further away from the cottage to decrease the chance of her Grandmother or The Huntsman hearing. "What are you talking about?!"
"Well," said Moure, "It's like Meryl said. It's understood best if you have the most experience."
Red did not feel like asking a girl she just met if she had lost her mind.
“I hate to ask, but these 'secrets you want me to keep wouldn't happen to involve anything about the boy who was killed, would it?”
“Of course not!” said Moure.
“She wouldn’t know,” said Meryl, “She told me she has no memory of her time as an animal.”
Moure shook her head. “Is there nobody I can trust?!”
Red felt that “protection” feeling again. She wondered if her grandmother felt this way for her when she was born. Or if her parents felt equally as frustrated.
Red faced closer to the girl she knew longer. "What do you expect me to do about this?"
"I don't know, we just needed to turn to someone." said Meryl.
"We?" asked Moure.
"That boy wasn't the only killing," Meryl continued, "If we just tell no one, how would we feel if more children are lost. Please help us. And please don't tell The Huntsman. You know how he is with this sort of thing. We'll tell him at some point, I promise."
Red blinked. This was a lot to take in. She wasn't certain if who these girls thought Red was and who she actually was were the same person.
“Look, I..." Red started to say, "Why don't I just walk you home for now? It won't be long before it's dark. If you're as cursed as you say, it would be best for you to not be in these woods."
Moure pouted again, but relented. Red asked her Grandmother to come with her, but she was chatting with the Huntsman. It likely would not be a problem, as long as it was light out and not very far. Red hoped.
"Do you live with your Grandmother?" asked Moure.
"No, I'm just visiting." said Red.
"Oh, so you're family's like mine. They want you out of the way."
The casual chat ended after that. There seemed to be no 'casual' with Moure. Especially when they reached the ends of the woods, Red realized where Moure lived. It was bigger than a cottage, and she might have even hesitated to call it a house. Her family must have had money. It was a place that told Red that there was more than one reason for a fourteen year old girl to not be in the woods.
Before Moure headed over to the gates of her very large house, Red touched her arm, the one with the bite, to get her attention.
"Okay, look, just, don't get hurt any further than you already are, alright?"
Moure rolled her eyes. "I told you, I'm not even hurt in the first place."
By the time Red returned to the cottage, the sun was beginning to set. Meryl actually did have a family to return to. Inside was warm, and seeing her Grandmother and the Huntsman made her feel warmer. Red took her wooden bird in her hands and moved to the table, which was closer to the fire.
"We make things for her family. They call us 'quaint'." said The Huntsman, "Also, I know about her."
Red swallowed whatever food was in her mouth. "Know about what?"
"Know about the bite." Red's Grandmother gasped when he mentioned that, "She tore up someone's garden and left her expensive clothes behind while she was transformed. She isn't subtle."
"What are we going to do about that, then?"
"It won't be necessary for me to do anything unless she's dangerous. But if she is..."
"You're not going to kill a girl, are you?" asked Grandmother.
"It won't be the girl I'm killing."
When Moure returned the next day, Red waited directly outside her gates to confront her.
“If you don’t sort this out soon, the Huntsman might, at best, seriously hurt you.” Red recalled the large gash the Huntsman caused and then stitched up in the wolf. She tried not to recall anything else about that particular moment.
Moure sighed. She gripped onto Red's arm and dragged her into the woods. It was deeper and darker until it was a place she did not recognize. By the time Red began to point her in the correct direction, something dark was there.
The wolf.
Somehow, the wolf was still alive.
Red screamed. She had recreated that face so many times in her memories. While it was not a perfect depiction, the three features she recalled most amalgamated together into one thing.
Surely a wolf wouldn’t have a lifespan for that long.
But it was also different. The wolf had expanded, like it was its own shadow. Longer, bent legs. Bipedal.
Red took a step in front of Moure. Moure looked annoyed and resentful when she did that.
“It has been a long time.” said the Wolf. Red had almost no memory of what the Wolf used to sound like. She was glad, until now, to have not remembered such a thing. "You're bigger."
If Red had the nerve to say anything at the moment, she could have said, You're bigger now too.
“Hiya puppy!” Moure shouted. She gave a big wave with one of her stretched out arms over Red’s arm blocking her.
The Wolf snarled. It looked like a living nightmare. Red was aware of some curses that could make poison appealing and vice versa. She wondered how many curses such an accursed creature could hold in its being.
"Stay away from me." said Red, doing her best not to stutter out the words.
Moure went around Red and stood before the Wolf. Red wanted to stop her, but was somewhat grateful anyone was between her and the thing that literally devoured her as a small child.
"There's nothing to be afraid of." said Moure.
"Is he the one that bit you?!" demanded Red.
"No way!" said Moure, "I mean I might not remember if he did, but you don't know him like I do."
It was true that the Wolf had yet to attack.
“So,” said Red finding more confidence in herself, “what are you trying to do, be a person?”
“And what did you expect of me? To give up on survival? To starve?” He attempted to circle her. It was the middle of the day, so his eyes did not glow. But his fur stood out. If there was blood on it, no one would be able to tell, but the snow would be able to tell the story.
"You have a funny way of playing with your food."
The Wolf scoffed. "And your Huntsman does not?!"
Red ignored that. “And what will become of you?” Red asked, “With no family, no identity, do you even have a name?”
The Wolf was silent as he attempted to circle her. It was the middle of the day, so his eyes did not glow. But his fur stood out. If there was blood on it, no one would be able to tell, but the snow would be able to tell the story.
“And what is your name? Is it actually 'Red'? Or was that a name bestowed upon you?”
“All names are ones bestowed upon you.”
“Are you the one who killed that boy?"
The Wolf laughed. It reminded Red of when she sees a cat yawn, seeing all of the fangs and tongue.
And thus, the wolf scurried off. In the distance, perhaps he did look thin, and fragile, and...small. It made her less afraid.
“See ya, pubby!” Moure cried.
The walk home was less difficult, since Red was more familiar with the path now, but that didn't make it easier.
Moure had to return to her place of residence. Red mostly took care of herself. For a a long time, it's all she knew how to do.
“I wanted to tell you that Moure wasn’t always my name." said Moure, "It was simply one of the names I’ve chosen for myself. Besides, using my original name would have been much more awkward for the both of us.”
“Do you not want to tell me what it was?”
“…It was Rosie.”
Red paused. “Why did you not say anything?”
“I didn’t want to be confusing. And besides, I had left that name behind me. The Rosie-cheeked girl my parents wanted is long gone.”
Red briefly wondered if she was in a similar position.
"Well," said Red, "My name was not always 'Red' either. It was just what everyone always called me since I was small. It just always stuck. So it's not uncommon to go by different names."
"Are you okay with that?" said Moure, "Going by a name you did not choose for yourself?"
Red considered that for a moment, then shrugged. "I don't dislike the name. And it was done so by those I grew up around and care for, so as long as it wasn't out of malice, the name can suit me fine."
Red had those who looked up to her now, ones who followed what happened to her and applied it to themselves. It was a great deal of responsibility. But it made her feel taller, bigger, just a bit. A name she didn't not choose for herself but fit her all the same.