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Red, flowing locks drape her pale, freckled face. She’s the most delightfully curvy woman I've ever seen, a proper Irish lass with glowing blue eyes, and all in all? Absolutely beautiful.
“Go on. Go away. I’m not going to hurt you. Please, go away,” she echoes, the fear in her voice very clear.
The wolf has her backed into a corner, a short plateau. It’s showing zero intention of backing off, it’s hunger driving it to go for the riskiest meal.
My fists ball up, and I act before I can think.
2
RED
I don’t knowwhy my grandma insisted on living in the middle of the forest not far from the Canadian border. She says she wanted to get away from it all, live far away from where people would ever bother her again, but there’s places that are far more temperate to do that in. Like, Wyoming. No one lives in Wyoming. Or maybe somewhere rural in the south. No one would ever find her in the middle of nowhere in, like, Arkansas. And there’s far less snow in Arkansas.
The closest town of any size is a place called Linesworth. It’s a bit of a hike to even get out there from her place, and most of the modern conveniences like rideshare apps refuse to function in such a remote location.
So I walked. This is a trip that she took all the time apparently, but she’s come down with a nasty cold. It might be pneumonia, and I insist on taking her to a doctor, but it will be a few days before I can do that, so for now I’m just doing whatever I can for her.
I’m a city girl. My father equipped me best he could for walking long distances in the snow, but I can’t say I’m adapting to it well. It’s eerily quiet as I’m coming back from the grocery store, a few straw bags in hand. I got some roast and vegetables, enough to make a good, hearty meal for my grandmother and keep us warmed up through the coming storm.
I just wished the walk wasn’t so long. And that there was better cell phone reception out here. Oh well. I guess I should make the most of it. It’s one of those internet detoxes I read about online.
A shuffling in the snow. The hair on the back of my neck stands up, and my eyes dart around. I dismiss it as just the wind.
I keep going, trying to enjoy the serenity. There’s more shuffling.
My eyes jolt to the source of the sound. Creeping through the snow is... a dog? All white, except for its eyes and teeth, which it’s baring at me. It dawns on me that it’s a bit too large to be a dog, and it’s unlikely that a stray one would be out here and so remote.
It’s snarl kicks up my adrenaline.
And I run.
And it chases.
Maybe that's not the best idea. There’s no way I’m going to outrun this thing. It has twice the amount of legs that I do and it’s probably a whole lot wiser on how to deal with all this snow. But the other part of fight or flight ain’t on the table here, as no one told me even to worry about wolves when I volunteered to go spend a few weeks with grandma.
So I run, as futile as it might be. All of me, all of my basket-bags, I’m heading right toward Grandma’s house, hoping that she has a shotgun or something.
Only in my panic do I make a wrong turn, because her cabin’s not where I expect it to be. I stumble about and run almost into a wall.
The wolf is right behind me, its stance strong and powerful as it closes in.
“Good doggie. Wolfie? Whatever you are, I don’t have any treats for you.” I shout, backing away, trying to think of the next action I should take. Should I just make a run for it past the creature?
It growls more, snarling. Ready to pounce. I’m worried I’m going to be the first member of my family mauled to death by a wolf in over a hundred years.
“Go on. Go away. I’m not going to hurt you. Please, go away,” I can hear my voice unsteady and wavering. I wouldn’t be able to convince anyone with that tone, even if they did speak English.
As I swallow and start to give up all hope, a man crashes down in front of me. One wearing a long sleeve shirt and no jacket, carrying a towel.
He screams incoherently at the wolf, puffing himself up hugely, pounding his chest and swinging the towel about. It looks absurd, but...?
The wolf growls, steps back, then turns and runs away,, and runs faster when the man starts to give chase.
It’s not too far before the man ceases, and the wolf is darting through the forest, his fur camouflaging it into the snow once more.
The man’s shoulders sink down into just being broad, as he turns to me. “Are you okay there, miss?”
I look up at my savior for the first time. Blue flannel and built like a brick shithouse, the guy in front of me in one word is, well, hot.
