Tales of the Big Bad Wolf: The Red Riding Hood Arc (A Fairy Tale)

Chapter Twelve: Opening Moves

CHAPTER TWELVE

Opening Moves

Normally, Elanore could be relied upon to show a degree of sensibility that many young ladies from her village did not possess.   She was not the kind of young woman who gave herself over to thoughts of young men and fine clothes.  Instead, she had chosen a path for herself that differed from most other girls, choosing a craft or trade that allowed her to be self-reliant and gave her a reason to wander about as wanted and needed.

However, at the moment she was not exactly behaving like a reliable sort of woman. While she walked the snowy path towards home, Elanore was not looking for icy patches on the road, but contemplating the strange woman at the inn. The woman was modestly attired but the cloth that was used on her gown was finely woven and patterned intricately. And yet, with all the interest there usually was about new persons in town, she found it odd to see such a woman sitting quietly at her table, ignored by the other patrons. Perhaps the woman’s ascetic appearance made her easy to overlook. After all, the more commonly admired women in these parts seemed to be busty and healthy sorts, loud and brave, not grave and quiet. 

From there her thoughts turned to Edmund. Innocently she wondered if he would find the stranger as interesting as she did or if his preferences were much more like the other menfolk in town. Her cheeks colored slightly; she was ashamed to be so curious as to what kind of woman Edmund would find beautiful.

Elanore was lost in thoughts like these, the thoughts of a self-conscious young woman.  She did not notice how crookedly she ran down the road, how dangerously close to emptying the contents of her basket she was, nor the hooded figure sloppily wandering through the snow on the path behind her. 

It was not an ominous figure but a rather pathetic one that was not clothed warmly enough for the weather. And it was doing its best to catch her attention, calling repeatedly after her while she wandered in her thoughts. 

It was only when it was nearly upon her that she broke out of her reverie and turned around.

“Hullo, miss messenger,” a young man squeaked as the two nearly collided with one another.  “What news do you bring from the outside?”

Elanore examined the person addressing her, wondering who this stranger might be.  He was a thin wisp of a man, close to her age.  Other than his face, his entire being was covered either by hood or cassock.   She recognized from his clothing that he was some sort of monk or cleric, but had not the faintest idea of what order or origin.  “You must be mistaken, sir. I am not a messenger.”

“Ah,” blue eyes widened and lingered over the red cloak she wore, before the man bowed apologetically. The cleric stammered. “I made a mistake. I thought you were someone else.”

She wondered exactly who that might be, but did not ask. “I’m Elanore Redley,” she pushed her hand forward in greeting.  “I’m the granddaughter of the mayor of this town.”

“Oh,” the timid creature responded, nervously extending his own hand. “I’m Novice Wyte.  I will be assisting the Friar with his duties.  He sends me to make rounds today.”

Elanore recalled something about how the elderly cleric in town was much overworked and saddled with too many responsibilities since the departure of the town’s sole schoolmistress.  She made a bit of polite small talk for a few minutes, discussing the schedules that the young man had to keep and the families he had visited thus far.  As their conversation came to a lull, she murmured “Good day” and turned to leave.

Again the young novice called after her. “Miss Redley,” the man stammered.  “Would it be alright if I accompany you to your grandmother’s house?  I meant to stop there later on behalf of the Friar, but would like to meet her now if it would not be too great an imposition on you both.”