Her mother had told her, when she was still very young, that Red had been brought into her life through the force of magic. That she'd been a water drop on a spring leaf, the small flame of a falling star, the light the moon reflected in the village well. She had always thought it was her mother's way of worming away from the question 'how are children made', and left it at that – but now, standing face to face with a confused wolf, she's starting to doubt those thoughts.
"You seem…" the wolf rumbles, growls, slowly circling around her, his heavy paws falling silent against the forest floor. "…familiar."
Red hitches her basket further onto her arm and raises her chin. "I haven't been here before," she says, "so that must be on you."
The wolf laughs – slowly, drawn out, dark. "And fire within you," he whispers. "My nose never lies, man-cub. Your presence is not new in these woods."
(you were a gift from the forest, her mother's voice rings, I found you in the leaves and between the branches, and I loved you for it)
"Perhaps I wandered between the trees when I were younger," Red says, shrugging off a growing sense of discomfort.
Growling, the wolf pushes closer, then closer still, until his fur is brushing against Red's skirt. "Bend down," he says, and it's not a command.
"Why?"
The wolf looks up at her, and his eyes gleam yellow. "Why not?"
Something within her – yields, begs, whispers –
Red bends.
The wolf nudges her hood, freeing her hair from its restraints. He comes closer still, a wet nose against her ear –
"Hold still," the wolf says, exasperation bleeding from his tone. "I shan't bite."
When he pulls back, he's baring his teeth in a far too humane grin. "It is as I said. You are familiar to these woods."
"What," Red says, tucking her hood back up again with trembling fingers, "are you talking about?"
"Simple," the wolf says, and he kneels before her in a most decidedly sarcastic manner. "You bear the mark of the Spirits. Welcome home, Defender."