RED | A dark retelling of Red Riding Hood | WATTYS 2021 SHORTLIST

Chapter Twenty: A Boy's Mistake

AN: 

Endings are the hardest thing for me to write. As I wrote this, I realized i was rushing a lot of it, so I ended up rewriting the last four chapters twice. Please, I hope you enjoy what I have written! 

Comment and likes are always, always appreciated and make me literally smile. 

"Please, can we—" Petyr cut himself off with the huff of his words. "Can we stop? I need a moment to catch my breath."

Marjorie froze mid-stride. For the last hour, she acted off of her nerves alone. Until Petyr spoke, she ignored the pain forming below her ribcage, an ache that asked her to stop.

Despite all of her attempts to conjure the skill to track Vivian, no sign of the Spark came—even with Fenris's encouragements.

"We are stopping?" The Wolf said, frustration thinly hidden in his words. "I can carry you, Petyr, all you have to do is kindly ask."

"Die," The Woodsman growled. In efforts to ease his harsh breathing, he pressed his fingers flat against the rough bark of a pine and leaned close to the ground.

Marjorie was inclined to agree with her friend.

Fenris was a harsh contrast against the humans. He remained unaffected by their trekking, despite only wearing nothing more than the maimed black cloak. Like always, he found no use for shoes, but still climbed through all terrain with an almost supernatural ease.

Her own feet were sore with overuse. Droplets from the river were trapped in her boots, rubbing against her wool sock and creating an aggravated burn across the roof of her feet.

"It is all right to stop for now, Petyr," Marjorie said. "Just for a moment, at least." She walked to where he leaned against the tree and unceremoniously dropped to the ground in a heap of her red cloak.

She pressed her spine against the tree, and then shot away from the wood. An almost painful jolt of warmth shot from the bark and into her skin.

"Petyr!" Marjorie shouted.

The Woodsman stared at Marjorie, confused at her reaction to the tree. He still pressed his palm against the bark, unaffected by whatever sizzled into her.

"Does it not hurt you?" She stared at his fingers, waiting for them to finally react from the inevitable pain.

But instead, only a worried expression crossed Petyr's handsome face. "How are you feeling, Marjorie?" the Woodsman asked. "Would you like to sit back down for a moment?"

"Do you not feel it, Petyr?" She asked, this time pressing on his knuckles and digging his skin into the wood. "It is more than just a mere thrumming now; it is a violent beating this time."

"Marjorie, what are you speaking about?" Fenris asked, his head cocked to the side.

She curled her hand around the Wolf's and pressed his flush against the bark.

"There is always a heartbeat," Marjorie whispered, her gaze climbing up to the Wolf's. Nothing but amusement reflected in his expression. "But now it's like... a drum."

Fenris narrowed his eyes, but pressed his fingers tighter into the wood, until his nails were lost to the white bark. His brows furrowed, proof that he tried to find the same strange current of energy.

"Marjorie, I don't feel anything at all," Fenris admitted after a long moment.

"But the trees," she murmured. "They have a heartbeat—like they are part of a living thing—"