She had counted out their paces long after they had vanished into the woods and their argument had ceased to linger in the air. Then the baby had cried out and she had lost count.

"Oh, shush," she said irritably and the child hiccuped noisily before letting out another whimper. With a sigh, the girl lifted the baby from her lap into the crook of her arms. Was this what she had been like as a baby, endless wails for a parent that didn't come back?

"They will come back, you'll see," she tried to say assuredly. "And until they do, you've got me, I suppose." Just like she had Granny.

She hadn't even been born yet when her father was killed while out hunting in the woods. He was called Robin and her mother was known as Mary. Now, she was a widow. Often, her mother told her that she had been a long and bloody birth. But then she was born that night, squalling and red-faced and her mother had sworn to keep her daughter safe and then she was named Roselyn. Roselyn was now fourteen years old, with long brown hair that fell in curls and had to be held back with a ribbon, long lost on a branch.

She had not stayed as safe as her mother had wished when she was born. Granny had even made her a red cloak to alert hunters of her presence and given her a knife for protection and it hadn't been enough. She had met a Wolf last year, on a spring day in the Woods on her way to Grandmother's house. He had been gentle and nice to her and tricked her so that she had led him straight to the cottage. If the Baker had not come after her, although she still wondered why he wanted her cape so much, Roselyn was sure that she and Granny would have died in the wolf's stomach like that. And now she was in the Woods, alone with a baby, with a giant and witch lurking.

There was a cracking sound, a footstep on a twig. She flinched before standing, grabbing her knife and slipping the baby under her fur coat as she lurched forward towards the noise.

The Witch was there, kneeling on the ground as she dug a hole. The woman with the blonde hair who screamed and ran under the Giant's foot lay still—dead. Her eyes were closed and her head lay in the Witch's lap.

The Witch didn't look up, but she still managed to look scornfully at her. "Practice slitting throats on his, but leave my Rapunzel be, you deranged little brat."

"I thought you might be a wolf, eating up their bodies." She confessed, a hurt flush rising.

The Witch snorted. "Not even wolves would eat the dead. Give them some respect."

The two of them were frozen in the autumn air for a moment, the Witch digging in the dirt and the girl.

"Her name was Rapunzel?"

"Yes." The Witch said, softer than ever. "Rapunzel, my daughter. I loved her and I made sure she was safe, so she could live…and helet her die." It was a bitter statement. The Witch finally created a big enough hole for Rapunzel and she flung her daughter into the dirt. Her body made a thud at the bottom before the Witch began to hurl the dirt in on top of her. "I saved one other plant in my garden," the Witch murmured. "Rampion."

She planted it gently, even though winter was still to come.

She stood, ready to leave.

"What about him?"

The Witch didn't break stride.

"Let him rot." She issued.

Roselyn knelt by the man, the narrator. She lay the baby, asleep again, on the ground as she began to dig, with hands and knife.

The Witch turned and now she was the one to stand there and watch her bury the dead. Her stockings and hands became dirty and she was hot as sweat trickled from her brow. The knife snapped in two but finally there was a grave.

Roselyn tried to push him towards it, but a fourteen year old girl isn't strong enough. With some hesitation, the Witch stepped forwards and dragged his body into the hole.

She joined the Witch beside the grave, staring down at the man before she throws the furs and the pieces of the knife in with him and the two of them bury him.

The Witch turned and bent down, but the girl is quicker with youth. She pulled the Baker's son to her, suddenly frightened again.

"You're just a child," the Witch soothed her, stroking one cheek. "Despite the lusting of wolves and the stretching of your dress now, you're still just a little girl. My Rapunzel was only a little younger than you when I locked her away from the evil of men. And you don't have a mother…"

Roselyn remembered the Wolf's grin, his teeth all sharp and his slimy tongue but she's even more afraid now of her, of this provoked mother.

"You can't care for a child, you still need raising yourself." The Witch's fingers curled around her hair. "Let me hold on to him for you. If he wakes, he'll want suckling and you're still just a maiden."

"I have a granny and he still has his mother," She defended them.

The Witch looks ready to murder but then there's a roar, of what could have been a great wind to a child, but was a giant to a woman and then there's a crash as something tall falls hard and shudders the ground.

The Witch whirled and suddenly with a cry, goes running, forgetting the children in the clearing.

He still has his mother. But she didn't. Mother was dead. She was lost and alone.

For the first time she could remember, Roselyn started to cry as she stumbled back, collapsing on to the seat of her suitcase. Her knife wouldn't protect her from getting crushed and the path was gone. People were dying and even here, she could still see the blood. The bodies had been buried, all except for her own mother unless you counted a crushed house as a coffin. How could the Giant be so careless in her search for that stupid boy that she let everyone else die? Would she even make sure she would not step on a girl holding a baby like the Baker's Wife had said? Just because she was small to the Giant didn't make her any less of a person!

"A wolf's not the same!"

"Ask a wolf's mother."

The Witch's retort slid back to her and a horrible feeling came over her then. The Giant wouldn't excuse Jack's killing of her husband just because he was a giant, she wouldn't excuse the Giant's killing just because they were humans and somehow she suddenly doubted that the Wolf's mother would excuse her for the Wolf's death.

"It wasn't my fault," Roselyn quickly told herself. "The Wolf tried to eat me! The Giant tried to kill Jack!"

But stealing the hen and harp? Carving up the Wolf? Was she no better than the Giantess?

Slowly, so not to disturb the infant, Roselyn shifted herself on her suitcase so she turned away from the bloody graves.

She was colder now as the sky grew towards twilight but she didn't particularly care then as she scanned the distance for a scrap of cloth through the trees, a voice calling out.

But she didn't hear voices. She heard a growl.

She glanced over her shoulder, eyes widening fearfully. There was a wolf, glaring her down.

Roselyn hugged the baby closer to herself, fear rising. She could run, but the wolf would catch her and if she didn't then she'd get lost—

"I'm sorry!" she cried out, backing away from the suitcase and the wolf. "I didn't know, he tried to—" Her back hit against a tree as the wolf snarled.

"You killed him," the wolf hissed with all the venom of the Witch. "My cub!"

"He tried to kill me!" She bleated feebly.

"It's not the same," the wolf's mother barked. "You're no more than a pig to us. And even if you did have to kill him, you should have done the honorable thing of your kind and eaten him, not put his fur on display!"

"I buried them." She whispered.

The wolf halted in her tracks, the hate dripping away with the salivia from her fangs and she looked as remorseful as the old stray dog that came around sometimes looking for food. "It's not the same."

Something flashed out of the corner of her eye and the wolf ran then, yipping and howling away.

Roselyn stared off after it before sliding down to the roots of the tree, her breath slowing.

Then a voice did speak behind her. "Are you lost, young maiden?"

It was the man she had seen earlier right before the screaming woman had thrown herself before the Giant's foot. He wore a purple cloak, high black boots, a sword at his waist, a gold vest over a white shirt and black pants that tucked into the boots. He was tall and handsomer than any man she had ever met before, and she was quite certain that this must one of the Royal Princes.

Roselyn said nothing, as she stumbled to her feet, but he stood there and watched her interestedly. "Do they really marry peasant girls off so young that this is your child?" He inquired.

"What?" She gasped, at first outraged but then she glanced at the speaker and reluctantly remembered manners. "No, your Majesty. This is the Baker and his Wife's baby."

His dark eyes followed up from the infant swaddled to her face as she felt herself blush hotly. "So how did this child end up in your arms?"

"They were taking me to my Grandmother's house but then we met the Giant—" she began awkwardly and stopped quickly when she noticed how his face tightened on the last word. "They are out searching for the boy and they left me here to watch the baby." She finished in a rush.

"You are good at carrying for the child," he conceded. "I have twins but I know nothing about children. That should be my wife's job, but something happened to her; I understand naught what, but it matters little as she is now dead."

"I'm sorry," Roselyn said contritely as she recalled the fair-haired lady run and the sickening crunch. "It will be hard without a mother. My mother died today too."

He nodded in acceptance. "What do you propose I do with my children?" He asked her.

"Find your family," she told him dejectedly. "They should help you take care of them like my granny did."

"You are brave, young maiden." The Prince said grandly. "To be alone in the woods like this and speak to Royalty so easily." He took a few short strides until he stood before her; his broad-shouldered, six-foot frame making her feel small at five foot three.

Then he leaned down and kissed her.

It was not a deeply passionate kiss, or of True Love like all the stories say of a girl's first kiss. For one thing, he didn't even kiss her lips. He rubbed the dirt off her cheek before his lips brushed against her cheek gently and pulled away. But she did not rub it off like she had once done.

"What is your name, brave girl?" The Prince asked amusedly, watching her cheeks turn rosy and her blue eyes widen.

"My name's Roselyn," she said self-consciously. "But I'm usually called Little Red Riding Hood because I once wore a red hood and cape. Or just Girl."

"You will grow in beauty and bravery, my little rose," he said certainly. "For your petals have already begun to bloom and your thorns are sharp enough to defend yourself."

And then he was gone. Roselyn stared after him for about a minute before she glanced down at herself. Her white stockings were torn at the knee and down her leg, her once shiny shoes were scuffed with dirt. The hem of her skirt had ripped, her hair ribbon had been lost at least an hour ago, her hair had a few twigs in it and her other cheek was stained with dirt.

Sitting down on her suitcase again, she began to laugh as she waited again.

A nice little oneshot, focusing on my favorite character of Into the Woods, of all the roles I've played, and possibly in the world of fiction too. Who else wondered what happened in those moments Little Red Riding Hood was left alone in the Woods in the show? When I played this role four years ago (Was is really that long ago?), this is the answer I came up with and finally decided to write out. After all, Princes are off seducing young maidens and orginally, the wolf's mother was to be in the show and double-casted with the step-mother. What better idea than to have Roselyn be the young maiden and to finally ask the wolf's mother?