The brothers ate sloppily. Though their catch was small, it proved to make plenty of stew for the three of them. They had watched it for days. They knew exactly how to catch it. The pelt had made the trophy thy wanted. It hung above their fireplace.
Rye was the first to rise that morning. He needed to prepare himself. It had been a year and a half since Wren was killed. He had grown immensely since that day; he was now lean and muscular. Rye trained every day, he ran for miles at a time, and fought the toughest fighters he knew. Today Wren's killers would pay. His parents had never blamed him for her death. The others did. He could see the accusations in their eyes, and fell the hatred when they spoke to him. Worst of all he blamed himself. His parents did all they could to prevent the harsh words of the others, but they did not prevail. Rye became an outcast.
He crept towards the house. Rye watched them like they had watched her. He knew exactly what to do. The fist two houses were only decoys. The better part of the second house was lying in ruins. As he passed the wreckage the terrible memories flooded his mind again.
"Help me! Help me, I'm stuck! The voice cried from underneath the pile of logs. Wren with her heart of gold could not resist helping anyone or anything in need. Rye was cautious as always. He had stayed back, he regretted that everyday since. Wren started to move the logs.
"C'mon Rye gimme a hand" she said as she worked. Halfheartedly he pitched in.
"Are you okay…?" She asked as they pulled him free.
"Douglas" he answered "and I'm fine"
"Well Douglas, is there anything we can do to help? I'm Wren and this is Rye."
"Could you take me to my brother's house? I am feeling a bit shaken."
The three walked the short distance to the large house. Wren helped him up the steps. Rye waited outside. He heard Wren scream, and he raced into the house. The poor thing was just in time to see her body being carried to a room marked "skinning". Dazed he ran, he just ran. Blind, oblivious to the world around him. His parents found him in the thickest part of the woods, one-week later. He was deep in shock, and very dehydrated. The thought that kept him alive was Wren is dead, and there was no justice.
The day was hot, and the door to the brick house was left ajar for the breeze. He nosed it open further. He stood in the doorway.
"Little pigs, little pigs, let me come in" he growled. His large white canines flashing on the word "in". One pig looked up.
"It can't be" said Douglas, "Hayden! Mortimer!"
The other two entered the room. The three weren't little, but neither was Rye anymore.
They stopped in shock. Mortimer slowly turned his gaze to the pelt above the fireplace.
"It can't be" he repeated.
"It's that little Bitch what we killed a year ago!" Exclaimed Hayden.
Rye and Wren were born with almost identical patterns on their coats. Rye looked like the ghost of Wren come back.
"That little Bitch was my sister" he snarled. The pigs didn't know what hit them. They had little time to react. The twisted brothers were dead before they hit the ground. Rye grabbed his sister's pelt. On his way out he knocked over a lantern, the house was ablaze.
The pigs would never murder again. You see there were pelts from animals of every shape and size hung on the walls of the house. The pigs hunted for sport. Wolves only hunt the weak and the sick.
And those pigs were sick