Little Red Cinderella and the Three Beanstalks

I sat in the darkness, trembling with fear and adrenaline. My chest heaved as I panted for air, and my heart was pounding so hard that I half expected it to burst from my chest. Blood trickled down my forehead into my eyes, and I was clutching the Book so hard my fingers had long since gone numb.

It's okay, it's okay. You still have the Book, and you still have your life. Everything will be fine, I told myself, trying to calm down a bit.

It didn't work. Even in my own head, I sounded like I was about to dissolve into panic at any moment.

I hesitantly unwrapped one arm from my stranglehold on the Book and tried to wipe the blood out of my eyes. The cut on my forehead throbbed and I cursed aloud. It wasn't even like I could consider it a war wound--I'd gotten it when I tripped over my own feet and cracked my head on an inconveniently placed rock.

With a shaky hand I pushed my dark, curly hair back out of my eyes, sweat and blood holding it in place. I managed to stifle my wheezing gasps for a moment, and listened intently.

Damn. I could still hear those infernal wolves out there. Although they had stopped howling now, they were sniffing and growling at the little hole I had managed to squeeze myself into. I had barely made it through, and the wolves were much too big to even get their snarling heads in. So I was safe.

As safe as a girl could be while hiding in a hollow tree stump, cold and exhausted and covered in blood, trapped in the darkness unable to escape on account of the blood-thirsty hounds of hell waiting eagerly just beyond.

Yeah. Perfectly safe.

I sat there for what seemed like hours, in the cold, damp dirt. I could feel all sorts of insects and God-knows-what-else crawling up my pant legs, down the back of my shirt, and into my hair. The moisture in the dirt had soaked through the seat of my pants, so my butt was uncomfortably wet. My back and neck were cramping badly, but there wasn't enough room in my little prison to move around to get more comfortable.

Everytime I wondered if I could make my escape, I found the wolves hadn't given up and were still waiting patiently on the other side of freedom for me to poke my head through. I just barely managed to pull myself back in to escape their snapping jaws, but not without losing a few precious hairs from the top of my head.

I was beginning to suspect I would never manage to get away. Even now and then I could hear one of the beasts digging at the jagged hole in the tree trunk, snuffling and clawing, knowing I was tucked away within. With a huff of pent up rage and exhaustion, I stomped my feet in the dirt and all but tore my hair out by the roots. Why did this sort of thing always end up happening to me?

Not that it was usually man eating, blood thirsty wolves, of course, but somehow I always managed to get myself tangled up in the worst possible situations.

It was probably because of the cape. I should have just dropped the thing in the dirt and ran when I bumped into the girl, but for some stupid reason I'd kept it; I'd even put the damn thing on for God's sake. I suppose it's no wonder I attracted some unwanted attention, wandering through the forest wearing a bright red riding cape.

But it was too late now to be complaining about my extraordinarily poor luck. I'd just have to be much more wary next time. If there was a next time...

But I was suddenly broken out of my pitiful slump by the unmistakable sound of a yelp, then the whimpering of a dog in pain. I pushed myself up slightly with my uninjured hand. Maybe two of them got in a fight or something, or maybe... no, I didn't even dare think it, for fear of jinxing myself. So I just held my breath.

Another yelp, and then a growl. A moment of complete silence, then, in one huge flurry, there was a confused mass of barking and yelling and whining, noises I couldn't pick out from the others, noises I couldn't identify, and noises that sounded very different from the cries of the over-grown dogs-- noises that could, just possibly, have been the shouts of another person!

I scrambled to my knees, shoving the Book into my sadly abused backpack, and began crawling as fast as I could to the hole in my stump. I paused for a moment and then tentatively poked my head out.

I was momentarily blinded by the bright late afternoon sun, but after the spots had cleared and my vision returned I saw the single most beautiful thing I'd ever laid eyes on in my whole pathetic life.

A young man was fending off about a half a dozen wolves, armed with only what for all the world appeared to be a wood cutter's axe, and a nice pair of hefty boots, one of which collided heavily with the side of one of the wolves' thick skulls, sending it reeling backwards. I couldn't get a clear look at him--there was so much chaos all around; wolves were leaping at him, blood was flying, and a mop of sandy colored hair flew about his face in a whirl.

I sat there motionless for a moment in stunned surprise, my mouth hanging wide open. Finally, what I was seeing processed in my brain.

"Hold on!" I called to him. I hastily scuttled all the way out of my hidey-hole, and dashed over to the man. On my way, I snatched up a large, crooked branch that was lying on the ground, flew as fast as my feet would carry me into the midst of the fight, and started swinging. Right away, I heard the satisfying crack! as my makeshift weapon connected with the skull of a wolf.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?!" a voice bellowed beside me.

"I'm helping!" I said defiantly, spinning to face the boy. I took another wild swing, knocking another canine away from me.

"You can't help!" He grunted, still chopping at the oncoming hoard. I looked at him in disbelief.

"Wait- what? I can't help? And why not?!" I insisted, trying to keep one eye on the wolves who now paced around us in a wide circle and my other on the blood-soaked boy. He whirled around angrily to face me, and I saw him clearly for the first time. Our gazes met, and I saw his eyes were different colors- one was impossibly blue, as clear and bright as a gemstone; and the other was the color of the autumn leaves, almost golden in the light.

Then I saw him raise his axe, and as if in slow motion, start to swing at my head. I screamed and ducked, throwing myself to the ground. I rolled over just in time to see the boy's axe collide with a wolf, jaws agape, still in mid leap. The creature let loose a howl of pain, and blood splattered my face and chest. And just when I didn't think I could get any stickier.

"You know, it isn't smart letting your guard down in the middle of a fight." The boy snarled down at me. I shoved myself upright, picking up my fallen branch.

"Oh, so now it’s okay for me to fight, is it?" I scoffed.

"You know what? Now is NOT the best time!" The boy shouted at me. I snarled at his tone, but took his advice and continued beating off the wolves. There were only three or so left standing now, and one of those was limping severely. Their attacks were becoming less and less forceful, and they were falling back. I swung my branch threateningly a last time, and they finally began to back off. With one last growl and a snarl, the remaining wolves turned and ran back into the depths of the trees, enveloped by the shadows and disappearing from view.

I took a deep breath, and then slumped to the forest floor. I rubbed my temple, and chuckled.

"What's so funny?" Asked the boy, a bit breathlessly. I ached all over, and was nearly too exhausted to stand up. I shook my head slowly.

"It's nothing." I panted. I shifted slightly and looked up at the boy, squinting in the light. He was pretty young considering everything; he couldn't have been much older than me, at the oldest in his very early 20's. His features were sharp and serious, which made him look older than he probably was. He was on the thin side, but he was undoubtedly in peak shape. You could see his muscles ripple and tighten when he moved, and the way he moved... it was as smooth as a dancer's gait, but practically bursting with untapped power. As I noticed before he had sandy colored hair, which hung long and choppy in his face. And his eyes, his mismatched eyes. They both bore into me with a strange kind of intensity, as if staring right through me. I shifted under his gaze, and looked away.

"Who are you?" He asked finally.

"My name’s Rikki." The boy stared at me.

"What?" I said, getting uncomfortable under his relentless gaze.

"That isn't what I asked. I asked who are you, not what is your name?" It was my turn to stare at him now, slightly incredulously. What was this guy’s problem?

"Well, we're very technical, aren't we? Tough luck. All you get is my name. Until you tell me yours, anyways." I replied, rather heatedly. He narrowed his eyes at me, and gave me a look that clearly said exactly what he thought of me, and it wasn’t terribly flattering.

"...Ezu." He grunted finally.