The huntsman went to work quickly, slicing open the wolf with his knife. Moments later, he was pulling the lifeless body of the grown woman out of the wolf, wiping entrails and blood off her face. He put his head close to hers and heard no breathing.
Panicking, he pounded on her chest. Again. Still no movement.
The huntsman, panic erupting from his eyes, feared there was nothing more that could be done. He snapped out of his momentary paralysis and stuck a finger in her mouth to clear out the pieces of entrails and bile. Then he covered her mouth with his, leaving her nose clear, and blew into her, clearing her nasal passages.
He waited. Still no movement.
Frustration slipped past his lips as he sank further into panic. He hit her in the chest once. Twice. Still, silence permeated the meadow. Before he had the chance for a third, Red started to sputter and gasp for breath.
“Thank the gods,” the huntsman whispered as he held Red tightly.
“Thanks, Daddy,” Red said, barely above a whisper.
He pressed her into his chest, his body’s tremors giving way to happy, crying laughter as tears poured down. Red weakly pulled him closer. There they sat in the mangled leftovers of a wolf carcass, in the middle of a meadow, covered in entrails, as the rain began to pour down.
Red hoisted the livestock trough up the hill; each step sent ripples through her shoulders. Today’s chores consisted of three hours in the fields and five hours of staving off another wolf attack. Their assaults were getting more intense, but it was nothing Red could not handle. As long as she had her Wolf-Tooth Blade, raw, seething hatred for wolves, and arms bigger than tree trunks, they would never be a match for her.
Wiping the sweat from her brow, she placed her hands on her hips, her trapezoids glistening in the late-evening sun.
“Red, we need to talk—now.”
She heard her father’s ragged voice behind her.
“Talk about what?” Red knew that voice meant danger wasn’t far behind but her give a fuck meter had dropped below zero, she really had nothing left to give today.
“I know you are tired, daughter, but now is not the time to become complacent. The hour for which we have prepared for, for so long now is upon us.”
“That’s what you said last year around this time. Give me pro-”
The crash of a berserker wolf head splashed in the water trough. Red glanced behind her at the severed head and returned to her chore.
“Congrats you bagged a berserker wolf. Those are hard to get,” Red said casually.
“Why are you acting like you don’t see the marks under his left eye?” Hank blurted out in desperation.
Red washed her hands and face calmly. As she started to dry them she turned around to face her dad, annoyance and fatigue etched into her face. Her eyes fell to the berserker head in the water tank. She found the markings easily. She closed her eyes quickly and turned her back on her father.
“How do I know-” Red started.
“Enough! You know what this is!”
Silence filled the area.
Neither father nor daughter dared move. A bead of water rolled slowly down Red’s face. Finally Red broke the silence by wiping a tear away and slumping her shoulders slightly.
“How far away are they?” Red asked.
“Two-hundred miles to the south east gaining seventy-five miles everyday”
Red said nothing. She hung her head, slowly shaking it back and forth.
“This is happening and we need to prepare…NOW!” Hank said, panic setting in because of his daughter's reluctance.
“No,” she said, softly at first.
“What the hell do you mean, no?”
“I’m tired of fighting. I refuse to live my life like this. They will take over the ancestral lands and I have stopped caring. Let them have it. Let ruin come to the world as foretold in the prophecy. I’m done playing the part of pawn in my own life.”
“You would let the whole village die for your peace? These people are all that is left of the Ferrytale people. You would let genocide happen for your peace?” Hank spat at Red.
“Yes, because this is still my life. I have already endured so much trauma in the name of protecting my people. My spirit is dead and I need to try to heal it. And healing for me begins with denouncement of violence. The people and you may join me in my escape. I leave within the hour,” Red stated and walked to the house to collect her things.
Hank stared at his daughter with bewilderment. Panic and frustration filled him. He took a deep breath to go into lecturing father mode but stopped himself before he said anything. The more Hank dwelled on the problem and the love for his daughter, the more he realized that she was right.
Hank walked away from the head in the water trough.
His face contorted into the face equivalent of a pretzel. Uncertainty and anguish danced a horrible and inconsistent routine on his face. After several minutes his turmoil subsided. Confidence and determination returned to their rightful spots on his face.
He marched up the Horn of Ferrytale and blew three sharp tones. Everyone came out of their homes and looked toward the horn. Red felt chills. The sound of that horn called back memories from that night. Red came out of the house and slowly looked at the horn. There, she saw her father standing by the horn with love and understanding showing in his eye. Red silently let her tears fall.
“Everyone prepare for departure. We won't be coming back.”