Red, The Wolf

Part 3: The Fight

Henny Garrity bit her lip and ducked behind the disheveled young man--Red recalled seeing him up in the pasture only this morning. What were they doing here?

"Why don't you watch where you're going?" growled the man. "We'd like a little privacy, if you don't mind! Be on your way!"

Red detected something in the edges of his voice, and she studied him closely. Did he not realize who she was? Just how much "privacy" did they think they would have in an open alleyway where anyone might choose to walk?

"Marc!" Henny murmured, tugging on his sleeve, "Let's just go..."

A warm, heady scent wafted off of the two young people, and Red grew keenly aware of the sheen across their faces. Come to think of it, she recognized his scent, from previous visits to the village--among other places. Her hackles rose. Privacy, indeed!

She glared at Henny."So this is the tailoring business you've been spending all your time at, while your mother, bless her soul, is working herself to the bone so that you might be able to make something of yourself!"

Marc's face twisted into a scowl, and he stepped forward. "Now see here--"

"What I do is my own business, thank you!" Henny piped up, lifting her copper-brown eyes defiantly to meet Red's gaze. "You don't know anything about how hard I work, nor how much Marc cares for me!"

"Cares for you?" Red grabbed the man by the arm and shoved him aside, not quite throwing him, but hard enough to separate the two. "If you think that, girl, then you're fooling yourself. I can tell just by looking at him that he means you no goodwill!"

Marc tried to interfere, but Red arrested him with an upraised hand.

Henny, meanwhile, gave a harsh laugh. "Oh my! What sharp eyes you have, to see such horrible flaws in people!"

Red didn't break eye contact with the defiant maiden. "All the better to see through a predator's lies, my dear," she quipped.

"Who are you calling predator?" Marc retorted, reaching for Henny's hand again. "Don't listen to her, Hen. You know me better than anyone, I will always--"

Red grabbed him by the arm, and this time, she didn't bother holding back her strength. He grazed the side of the building and tumbled into the stack of crates. "Spare her the deception, you dog. This is not the first daughter of Queston you've tried on in the last few years, anymore than you're her first 'trim on the side'!"

"How dare you!" Henny squealed, but Red kept going, pointing at the two of them, on either side of her.

"Don't think I don't know everything that goes on in these trees! What would Burch say if he knew--"

Marc arose with clenched fists. "I don't see how it's any of your business!" He planted his feet, crouching into a fighting stance.

Red folded her arms. "Everything to do with Queston is my business!" She didn't bother bracing, standing defiantly before his threatening posture. "So what did you promise her this time? A tiny flock, a quiet home, faraway in some other valley where you will only have yourselves to look after?"

The events of that morning returned to her mind in perfect detail: the specks she found on the wool of some lambs, but not others--most likely paint or ink, and not a coincidence. In fact, now that she thought of it, the herd did seem to shrink every time the white wolf struck, even when there was no sign of an attack at all. "How many of the village lambs have you already marked for yourself, poacher? Too bad that wolf killed the bellwether this morning, or you would have been able to abscond with half the flock before anyone no--"