They covered it up, they covered it all up. Grandmother did not get eaten. I did not get eaten. Peter did not get eaten. The wolf was not evil or bad. The elders wanted, no NEEDED control. The needs of the many truly outweighed the needs of the few or in this case - the needs of us two.

My grandmother lived in the woods as a pagan practitioner in the order of Druids. She was very spiritual and in tune with nature and her surroundings. Considered a wise woman albeit a bit crazy. This is all very true and you would go crazy if the love of your life was suddenly taken from you before their due time as well.

I digress, you came here seeking knowledge, the truth perhaps of a tale that has been told throughout the ages. The girl with the crimson cloak and the big bad wolf. A tragedy where lives are lost, a conspiracy, or just a tale to keep children in line? Gentle reader I leave these pages as the last testimony and allow you to judge for yourself.

My grandmother was aging and had fallen ill to the first bite of the fall season. The town was bustling and busy bringing in the harvest and really couldn't spare the time of day for an ailing crazy pagan. My mother, who loved me dearly was concerned for my safety as the the hunters where in full prime and there are many dangers in the deepest woods.

The dangers are even more perilous for shape-shifters. Hides, furs, and meat are all necessities for surviving a long winter. I understand this and the circle of life. I bear no judgement in these matters. I also know that human kind are still fledglings and fear magic, the unknown, and anything different. Again, no judgement it is what it is.

The infamous cloak. Depending on the light it would appear as the brightest red or deepest crimson. It hid my true identity from the humans and provided protection against the elements. To the townspeople I was just a frail girl with snowy white hair and violet eyes. But the reality is that I'm a catfox.

I still try to wrap my head around that sometimes but that's a story for another time. I would don this beautiful enchanted cloak and visit my grandmother often. I too had a keen penchant for the arcane and she was teaching me. My mother would have been an excellent sage but she denied the heritage and tried to conform for a more comfortable life.

I do not judge her, for in her shoes I might have chosen the same path. Again, another story for another time. As my grandmother was ill I was making a trip every other day to stock up her pantry and ensure she was alive and recovering. I knew that her time was coming to an end and I wanted to cherish all the wisdom I could before taking over her role in the forest.

My mother wanted me to renounce the pagan heritage and marry a nice boy in town and settle to making babies and keeping house etc. Not a bad ideal for most females during this era as it was a very mysogynistic time period. However, I was fated to meet and to care for the big bad wolf.

He was a beautiful forest wolf with a cream colored under belly and over coat of rich chocolate brown. His eyes where a vibrant green that put all the mighty oak leaves to shame. He could blend in the forest and unless he wanted you to see him you wouldn't. That is until he met me.

Over the summer I spent a lot of time with my grandmother in the deep of the woods. I would bathe in the lake at the apex of the waterfall and I tended her gardens with love. I even had a little accident during a heavy summer rain where I slipped and fell down a small cliff and was protected by a clan of wolves.

Everything is balance, and the wolves are very keen on keeping the delicate ecosystem in check. I truly believe that is one of the many reasons they tended me. They could see past the cloak as if I wore nothing at all and they knew of my grandmother and respected her. Magic was welcome in these woods and there was indeed a hierarchy within it's boughs.

I made a very foolish mistake as the young often do. While in the forest I often would take my cloak off and drape it over a low hanging branch while gathering herbs and berries. I enjoyed letting my tail breathe and my ears to be free to listen to all the chatterings of forest dwellers. But this was a deadly gamble and I would soon learn the hard way.

My dearest mother told me time and time again to never take off my cloak for my fur was too white and too noticeable, the hunters would think it a grand prize to sell at market. I of course didn't heed her warnings. I was too confident because I knew the wolf was always watching. At first, he didn't say anything at all and I would chatter about needless and unnecessary things.

He seemed amused and would growl if there was a potential threat nearby so that I could put my cloak on quickly and hide. Sadly, we were both being hunted by the best huntsman in the county. He was wise to cover his scent and he knew how to move with the forest ebb and flow. The hunter never took more than he needed and never hunted for sport. It is perhaps why neither of us were aware until it was too late.

We were not supposed to bond, or love for that matter. Partners certainly, neighbors sure but not mates or lovers. That would be taboo. For how could a wolf love a human girl? Love comes in many ways. Not all of it is sexual. We understood each other and shared a love for the forest and our families. We knew that this would last for all of our lives and no matter the distance. Hunters however think only of the hunt and this hunter thought he would claim a unique prize.

My fur clearly did not blend in the forest and when we caught his scent I barely had enough time to grab my cloak before the zing of the arrow clipped my right leg. I screamed in panic and instead of wrapping the cloak around me I tore at the bottom to tie a bandage on my leg. The wolf enraged at the fact that I was injured leapt toward the hunter and knocked him down.

I'm certain the wolf would have defended me to my last breath but I cried out in pain and he could not ignore it. He bounded back and carried me through the forest. The hunter however, had my scent and my blood. We were now the hunted. Together we took the hunter far from all that we knew and knowing that if he gave up - he would return to town and incite a mob.

Our forest was in danger. Our families - we did what we had to do.

The hunt carried on for weeks. When the townsmen gathered a search party for me they found the torn cloak with dried blood. Grandmother also, was found dead in the garden. The huntsman did not die by our hands but to his own greed and insanity. Perhaps due to hunger as he pursued us relentlessly.

The townsmen enraged at finding the wise woman dead and my bloodied cloak decreed it was wolves and a massive hunt was declared and prices put forth for pelts. Peter cried wolf often and it was next to impossible to double back to retrieve my cloak. We had to do it or I would never be able to walk amongst the humans again. To save all that we loved and the delicate forest we split - I stole my cloak back and ran north. The big bad wolf rushed to his clan and evacuated them south.

The howls of the wolves echoed far and wide - often due to the fallen as the hunters where crazed. A simple bond and the arrogance of youth caused us much pain. We learned to fear the humans. It was not the time for magic, or for love.

We vowed that each spring we would make our way back to the sacred forest and once it was cleared of man we would both reclaim that which was taken and bring prosperity to the woods. This vow would be passed down to future generations should we be unable to accomplish this goal.

One last embrace with tears in our eyes we part - it is not goodbye it is only fare thee well until we meet again. The town grew and as the years passed the rumors of the white fox and the forest wolf faded into memory. Slowly the wolves migrated back to the sacred forest.

As punishment for my arrogance, I only return to the forest in spring to keep my vow and work hard at preserving the forest. I long for the time to pass when magic can return to the lands and I can practice freely. The big bad wolf is still a legend and hunters brag often over ale and mead that they have seen him.

Always watching, always waiting.


This was a gift from  neill and it is a stunning piece!

Art ©  anglish This turned out so amazing and if you haven't looked through her works you really should.

Characters are Angelis and Neill