Page 9 of Little Red Riding Hood (The GriMM Tales #1)
Five
“ A nd did you see when I hit the rope? Bang in the middle! It split instantly, cleaved it in two!”
“Mhmm.” Wim took a large slurp from his bowl. Squirrel, potato, and carrot stew, seasoned with the sweet taste of success. “I sure did.”
“And then with that driver on the horse… I thought I’d have to use two arrows, at least, but I got him first try!”
The hearty stew he’d devoured coursed through Red like a warm embrace, the rich flavours igniting a spark of confidence he hadn’t felt in ages. It was as if the meal had breathed life into him, energising his thoughts and pushing back the ghost of self-doubt.
Wim set his bowl down next to their fire.
Earlier, with Wim’s help, Red had lit the fire himself, coaxing the tiny flickering embers to life as they danced beneath the kindling, growing the flame into a warm, inviting glow.
Wim wiped his mouth and beard, then grinned at Red.
“I saw it all, Red. It was brilliant. You were brilliant.”
Red’s chest swelled with pride at Wim’s words. Brilliant . He’d never been called that before. The huntsman had taught him skills with the bow and arrow, but praise had always been sparse, more of a grunt of approval than a cheer of encouragement.
A warm flush crept up Red’s neck, and he ducked his head, pretending to focus on his stew. The praise felt foreign, yet intoxicating. He wanted more of it .
His mind raced back to the moment he’d loosed that arrow. The surge of power, the rush of adrenaline. For once, he’d felt… useful. Important. Not just some cast-off orphan with ugly, mismatched eyes, knocking around the palace like an extra cog in a machine that didn’t need him.
Red snuck a glance at Wim, studying the way the firelight danced across his rugged features. How could someone so fierce, so powerful, think he was brilliant? It didn’t make sense. And yet…
A niggling doubt wormed its way into his thoughts. What if this was all an act? What if Wim was just buttering him up, waiting for the right moment to—
“Gone all silent on me, sweetheart. First time taking a life, I’m guessing?”
“Yes,” Red admitted. “I know I shouldn’t give a flying fuck about killing those monsters. But…” He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.
“I’ve lost track of how many I’ve killed now,” Wim said, almost absently.
“You mean… the ones you accidentally ate? That wasn’t really your fault, though, if your sickness or whatever made you do it.”
Wim fell silent, his gaze fixed on the dancing flames.
The firelight cast strange shadows across his face, deepening the lines around his eyes, making him look older, more haunted.
His neck wound hadn’t fully healed when he shifted back, and some blood had leaked onto his shirt, leaving a dark stain.
Red shifted on his log, uncomfortable with the sudden change in mood—the victory of their earlier triumph had melted away like frost in sunlight.
“They visit me every night when I try to sleep,” Wim whispered, his voice barely audible above the crackling fire.
Red’s chest tightened. He couldn’t bear to see this powerful man look so… broken. “But you shouldn’t feel guilty, surely? It wasn’t you . ”
Wim’s eyes snapped up to meet his, and Red flinched at their intensity. “It’s not only guilt I feel. It’s desire. ” His fingers curled into fists. “When the beast takes hold, I crave the taste of blood, the feeling of ripping flesh between my teeth while they scream.”
Ice slithered down Red’s spine. His hand instinctively moved towards his bow, though he forced it back down.
The way Wim spoke those words—with such raw hunger—made Red’s stomach churn.
This hardly seemed the same man who’d just praised him moments ago, who’d helped him light the fire and made them both stew.
Red pulled his red cloak tighter around himself.
“I keep thinking about the elves,” he said, mournful.
A subject change was more than necessary.
“The ones that we didn’t save. They looked so desolate when they pressed their faces to the bars.
It was like they were looking straight at me.
And what about the ones we did save? They just ran off into the woods! ”
“Elves are survivors.” Wim’s tone had softened, losing that terrible edge of hunger.
He rubbed his palms against his thighs, shaking his head, and Red’s shoulders loosened a fraction.
When Wim leaned over to place a large hand over Red’s, he didn’t flinch.
“Red. We did a good thing today. You can’t save everyone. That isn’t how the world works.”
Red wasn’t completely convinced they’d saved anyone today. Surely the runaway elves would starve to death in the forest, still chained together, but he forced himself to smile at Wim.
Draining the last of his bowl, Red sighed in contentment. It tasted delicious, with the extra herbs Wim added from his pack. He had to admit, this man could cook . He could probably give the palace kitchen staff a run for their gold.
The moment Red placed his bowl down, Wim reached for the cooking pot, pouring the last of the stew into it.
“What? Stop!” Red protested. “You have it.”
“I gave myself more when I dished up. ”
It was an outright lie, but Red accepted the refilled bowl. His heart pounded in his chest, and he kept his eyes firmly on the stew. “Why do you keep feeding me?”
Wim chuckled. “Maybe I’m fattening you up to eat, aye?”
Red flinched so violently, the bowl almost slipped out of his fingertips.
Wim’s face dropped. “Shit, that was stupid of me. Bad joke. Suppose that’s still a bit raw after I did almost eat you the other day.”
Red quickly changed the subject. “Speaking of eating, you’re a great cook, I have to say. I could eat this until I burst.”
Humming, Wim ran his finger along the insides of the cooking pot, scraping the very last remnants out. “Always liked cooking. I used to cook for my pack most nights, before…”
The fire crackled and popped.
“Before your… sickness?”
Wim nodded. “Been too long since I’ve had anyone to cook for. Good to see someone appreciate my food again. Even if you do chew with your mouth open.”
“I do not!” Red said, through his final mouthful of potato, then slapped his hand over his mouth.
As he swallowed, he imagined Wim cooking on a much larger flame, dozens of others sitting around in a circle each evening, sharing food and stories.
The thought both warmed his heart while simultaneously making him feel very alone.
“Do you miss them terribly?”
“ Yes,” Wim answered, as soft as a whisper. “Terribly.”
Wim’s entire body sagged. What was it like, being away from the people who made you whole?
Red wouldn’t be able to say. Wim was missing a piece of himself, but it was a piece that didn’t even exist for Red.
At least you couldn’t miss what you’d never had.
Yet Red’s heart ached, a painful gnawing sensation like a phantom limb, one he could feel but had never known, leaving him with an emptiness that felt as vast as the night sky.
“Does your pack… all live together? ”
For a brief moment, Wim appeared startled by the question. Then he grinned. “Not all squeezed under one roof, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I obviously didn’t mean that.” Was the wolf determined to remain infuriating for their entire journey together?
“Most live near the heart of our land—there’s a big clearing there, with a well. Got a proper stone kitchen where I used to cook. The pups play in the grass. My place is just a small cottage, out on the edge.”
“Oh?” Red pretended there was still food left in his bowl to scrape with his spoon. “You live there alone?” he asked, in an extremely casual manner.
Not casual enough—Wim left a beat of silence before replying, “Aye, I do. Why do you ask?”
“Just making conversation!” Red forced himself to look at the wolf, where a small smirk was waiting for him on Wim’s lips. “I suppose I wondered if you had a… partner. A… wolf-mate, perhaps.”
“No mate. Got the cottage all to myself. There’s space, though, for two… should I need it.”
Red’s gaze lingered on Wim across the fire, conscious of his brow furrowing. Wim’s expression remained inscrutable, offering no hints of what lay behind his words.
“Umm… Well, that’s good. It’s good to be prepared for these things, I guess.”
Wim’s large chest shook, and his lips pressed together tightly. “Aye.”
The wind picked up, rustling the leaves above them and flickering the fire, casting dancing shadows around them. A chill ran through the air, wrapping around Red like an icy blanket.
He hasn’t asked me if I have anyone special waiting for me back at the palace. For a moment, Red pictured himself through Wim’s eyes—a pathetic nobody, disposable, friendless.
“I do have friends, by the way,” Red said, more to his empty bowl than Wim’s face. “You know, earlier. You said I didn’t have any friends.”
Red caught Wim’s gaze, and for a fleeting moment, he saw a flicker of understanding in those deep, steady eyes. Wim’s posture softened slightly, and he leaned forward.
“I’m sure you do, sweetheart.”
Red blinked at the softness to the endearment. Wim must have caught it too, as he coughed, busying himself by poking their fire. “Tell me about them, then. Your friends.”
“Well…” Red cycled through his very short list. “There’s Auntie Anne. Not my real auntie, obviously.” He stared into the crackling orange flames, memories of Anne warming him more than the flames ever could. “She’s been in the Queen’s service for over thirty years now.”
Wim snorted. “And she doesn’t wish to leave?”