Prologue

Once upon a time in Red Riding Hood Forest, 2nd Kingdom . . .

Huff-puff, this is the life.

The wind whooshed through Wolf's dark hair as he ran through the forest without worry or agenda. He wove around tree trunks and bounded over fallen twigs, laughing as he went.

The sun glittered radiantly through the branches above him, and in a moment of spontaneous inspiration, he tried howling at it as if it were the moon. The resulting sound didn't carry any of the volume or ferocity that his father's did, but that hardly mattered to the six-year old. If ever his bare feet collided with a loose rock or slipped as he climbed over a mossy log, the disruption was also only temporary, as he was soon back on his quest to adventures unknown. His mother had shooed him outside with only a bundle of bacon sandwiches and a reminder to be home by sundown, and he was determined to make use of this free time.

Like most families of their ilk, Wolf and his parents were frequently on the move, flitting from one place in the Nine Kingdoms to another and never staying anywhere for more than a few months. They might spend one month in a straw cottage on the outskirts of Little Lamb Village, then another two months hiking and scavenging through the Dragon Mountains, followed by a (blessedly brief, in Wolf's opinion) month in a garret in Kissing Town. Wolf wasn't certain why they always had to move, but he knew it had something to do with his wolfish father and human mother. Wherever they went, villagers seemed to cower at the sight of them, whispering words like "dangerous" and "unnatural" when they thought Wolf couldn't hear them. It was, of course, only a matter of time before that fear turned to suspicion and hostility, and Wolf's family had to leave again.

If there was one thing Wolf was certain of though, it was that their current residence deep in Red Riding Hood Forrest was his favorite home thus far. For the past month and a half, they had lived in a house carved from a giant tree trunk, large enough to accommodate them but also able to blend in with the surrounding woodland. Every morning, he climbed high up into the tree's branches to view what seemed like miles and miles of greenery spread out before him.

Aside from some squirrels, rabbits, and birds, they were mostly alone in the forest, though his father had indicate there might be a nearby wolf pack. If all continued to be quiet and safe for them, he might one day soon introduce them and that would mean friends for Wolf to play with.

The lack of any nearby human villages, however, was both a blessing and a hindrance for Wolf. On the one hand, he and his father now had the freedom to run about without worrying about being shot at by a local huntsman. On the other hand, grazing farm animals—especially sheep—had always been a source of fascination for the young pup. He could spend hours observing their fluffy masses and thinking up new ways to sneak up on them. On the one hand again, lack of sheep also meant a lack of pesky, beguiling shepherdesses who always startled him with their shrieks and swinging crooks. Yes, it was probably best that Wolf was currently free of the temptation of both sheep and shepherdess alike . . . for now.

Wolf slowed his pace as he approached a nearby stream, thinking to stop for a quick drink. His ears then perked at the sound of a twig snapping in the stream's direction, and a new idea came to mind. Perhaps with any luck and a little cunning, this respite might also provide an opportunity to practice his sheep-stalking skills on the unsuspecting animal ahead.

Hunkering onto all fours, he edged up to a cluster of water willows along the stream's bank, slowly parting a flowery stalk just enough to get a better view. From his vantage point, he couldn't see anything, but a rustling noise and the snap of a second twig was all the confirmation he needed that something was indeed there. As quietly as possible, he leaned back on to the balls of his feet and drew a deep breath, just as his father had taught him. Then, with as violent a growl as he could manage, he leapt over the shrubbery and into cool flowing water, his arms spread wide to make him seem all the more menacing.

Nothing.

Wolf turned in a circle, his eyes frantically scanning the landscape in front of him. Aside from the light breeze that continued to tickle his hair, he saw no indication that anything had been there. No quivering branches on the opposite shore to give indication of a hasty retreat. No glimpse of a tail as it disappeared behind a tree trunk. He looked up at the trees overhead, but even they seemed clear of any birds.

"Huff-puff, that's typical," Wolf muttered as he sank back onto his rump by the water's edge. He gazed morosely at the sunlight reflecting off the water and, his ego sufficiently deflated, pondered his next adventure.

A third snapping twig barely registered in his mind . . . until it was followed by a soft wail. The sound continued to build in intensity, becoming an indignant cry that made Wolf's ears prickle. Again, he looked around for the source, but saw nothing. The cry seemed to be carried along on the rushing stream, and so he saw no other choice but to follow it.

He didn't have to go far. Fifty feet from where he sat, the stream veered to the right, curving around a cluster of wildflowers. And at the base of those wildflowers lay a wriggling, squalling bundle of blankets.

Crouching next to it, Wolf cautiously peeled back the top blanket. He had already guessed the source of the cry when he first heard it, but he was still surprised to find a red-faced infant beneath, its tiny fists clenched and waving against its confinement. When Wolf removed the rest of the blankets, he found that the infant wore a simple but well-made cotton shift and woolen booties. It couldn't have been more than a few months old, yet it already had a full head of slightly matted, dark brown curls.

Once freed, the infant's cries gradually subsided to a low whimper and the bashing arms fell still at its side. Bright blue-green eyes found Wolf's brown ones, and for a moment the two could only stare at each other in silent assessment.

Without breaking eye contact, Wolf reached out a finger to stroke along the baby's cheek. Though he half-expected it to disappear at his touch, his finger instead met corporeal skin as soft as a flower petal that ended in a tiny human ear no different than his own. A cursory glance at the opposite side of the baby's head confirmed a second ear. No claws, only five wee fingers on each hand, and—Wolf pulled off the booties—yes, ten little human toes.

The baby had been quiet until now, its eyes seeming to inspect Wolf by sight as much as he did by touch. Growing bold, he completed his inspection with a casual boop on its nose, drawing back in case this roused the being to supernatural action. It scrunched up its nose and closed its eyes on impact, but when the eyes opened to meet Wolf's again, they seemed to flash a brighter blue then before as the baby laughed. The sound echoed like a tinkling bell along the stream and the wildflowers above it seemed to sway in time.

While it was no clear that the baby wasn't a monster in disguise, the question still remained . . .

"How did you get here?" Wolf asked, not so much to the baby itself as to the surrounding wilderness. Looking around him once more, he continued, "Are your parents nearby? Did they send you out to play like my mom?"

Naturally, the baby didn't answer, having become distracted with pumping its legs against the blankets.

"Who are you?" Wolf tried again.

Still no response. Either the baby had no idea who it was either, which seemed silly to him, or it felt other matters, like gnawing on its fist, were more important.

Then, as the baby half-rolled onto its side, Wolf saw a corner of paper sticking out between two blankets. The thick, cream-colored card fit in the palm of his hand and was embossed with swirling vines and tiny flowers in gold along the edges. Curiously, there was no writing on the card, and when Wolf turned it over, the other side was equally blank. He flipped the paper over a few more times, trying to find some indication of its purpose. The baby watched his growing frustration with an unmistakable twinkle in its eye; if he didn't know any better, Wolf would think the wee one was amused by his struggle for answers.

"Do you know what this is?" Wolf asked, proffering the card in surrender. Yet again, the baby had no clear response, merely gurgling contentedly. As vexed as he was in this moment, Wolf couldn't help but smile back.

"You're a tricksy little one, aren't you? Whatever am I to do with you?" he continued, slumping down onto his side.

No sooner were the questions out of his mouth than the card began to glow. Wolf and the baby both watched in fascination as six words appeared in spidery script in the center.

Take good care of her, Wolf.

Wolf wasn't sure which intrigued him more: the knowledge that the baby next to him was a girl or that the card somehow knew his name. The former suddenly seemed obvious, as he now observed her long, feathery eyelashes and rosebud lips. As for the latter, while this foreknowledge was to be expected from a magical object, it still made him feel uneasy that said object was giving him orders.

The card flashed again, and a small leather pouch appeared in Wolf's other hand. Inside he found a collection of gold coins and a necklace. He immediately tried to count the coins but soon had to stop because he didn't know how to count past twenty. The fact that there were still many more coins to be accounted for made his heart pound and palms sweaty as he anticipated just how many bacon sandwiches his family would be able to buy. No, forget bacon; surely, these coins would be enough to buy a whole pig, roasted and succulent on a spit.

The necklace was, in Wolf's opinion, less remarkable: a simple leather cord with a single silver pendant in the shape of a flower. No, not just any flower. A rose in full bloom, similar to the ones Wolf's father sometimes procured for his mother. Next to him, the baby went still, her eyes wide and mouth hung open in an O, just as transfixed by the jewelry gleaming in the sunlight as he had been by the coins.

"See, it's a rose. Most girls think they're pretty," he said, dangling it over her.

Her arms reached out to the swaying necklace as if to catch it, and her eyes again flashed blue. Wolf was coming to recognize these flashes as similar to the gold ones his and his father's eyes sometimes emitted in times of high emotion. Happy to obliged her curiosity, he continued to suspend the necklace within her line of vision. Sometimes he gently swung it back and forth just to see if her eyes followed (they did!).

"You know, my mom really likes roses too," Wolf reminisced. "There's a rhyme she always hums about them. It goes something like 'Roses are red / Violets are blue / Wolfies are tricksy / and protective too.'"

It seemed only natural then for him to take the necklace and secure it around her neck. The cord extended down to her midriff, giving just enough slack for her to grab a portion to gnaw on. A satisfied smile spread across her face, and even the plant life around them seemed to sigh in pleasure.

"Glad you like it," Wolf said, feeling warm and peaceful just watching her. Then, an idea occurred to him and he snapped his fingers. "Hey, that's what I'll call you: Rose. What do you think, Rose? Rose, Rosie, Rose."

The baby was initially startled by the snapping sound, the cord dropping from her mouth. Then, as Wolf continued to repeat his chosen name, she gurgled, kicking her legs in time.

"Rose, it is!" he declared, lying back down next to her and staring up at the wildflower blossoms above them. The pair lay like that for some time, the silence broken only by Wolf's occasional half-hummed, half-warbled repetitions of the "Roses are red" rhyme.

Awhile later, a sudden rumble in Wolf's stomach reminded him of his bacon sandwiches. He sat up and retrieved one from his bundle, gulping it down in three bites. He turned to offer his companion a second sandwich, only to remember that babies, like little lambs, needed milk instead. And the closest place that would have milk was back in his family's tree house.

Leaping to his feet, he returned the coins and card to the leather pouch, securing it with the remaining sandwiches in his bundle. Then he picked up Rose, being careful to cradle her head in a manner like what his dad had taught him with rabbits and kittens.

"Don't worry, I've got you," he soothed when she wriggled and fussed at her upright position. "I'm gonna take you to home, and mom will get you something yummy to eat."

The walk back to the tree house was decidedly less carefree, but Wolf still felt a sense of pride in knowing that he was returning home with such an important package. At one point, Rose rested her head in the croak of his neck and fell asleep. As her little breaths fluttered warm along his neck, he knew in that instance that he would follow the card's instruction to the letter. Whoever and whatever she was, he and his parents would protect this baby as if she had been born to them. Wolfies are tricksy / And protective too, he repeated, both to himself and later when he presented Rose to his astonished parents.

Perhaps it was the addition of baby Rose or merely the seclusion of their new home, but either way, Wolf's family broke the pattern of frequent relocations that year. In fact, they resided quite happily in the tree house for another six years. During that time, Wolf flourished in the woods, reveling in the freedom to roam and, later, to teach his sister about the plants and animals they encountered.

While they did eventually become acquainted with other young wolves and gypsies in the area, it was still expected that you would never see the brother without the sister, or vice versa. As Rose grew from an infant to an inquisitive toddler to crafty girl-child, Wolf was there to guide, abet, and—of course—protect her. She followed suit as his partner-in-sheep-worrying. When she discovered an ability to magically levitate objects at age five, her first instinct was not fear that it would make her an outcast but rather glee that she had another tool to use against the pesky squirrel outside her bedroom window.

It was only the passage of the Wolf Overhaul and Obedience Enforcement (a.k.a, W.O.O.F.) Act, signed by newly crowned Queen Red Riding Hood III, that drove the family from the Second Kingdom entirely. Though they eventually resettled in the Thousand-Mile Forest in the Fourth Kingdom, the violence with which the Act was enacted took its toll on the parents. Where Wolf's mother and father had once been a jovial, loving pair, they suddenly became paranoid, obsessed with eating and the moon. Even the "Roses are Red" song was replaced with the twisty mantra of "A shepherdess makes quite a mess, but little lambs are lovely." It was almost a relief for the children when they disappeared in the middle of the night, leaving Wolf and Rose to fend for themselves.

Still, the siblings stuck together through thick and thin, feast and famine. Even when Wolf was captured and imprisoned in Snow White Memorial Prison almost twenty years to the day after their first meeting, Rose remained in the woods nearby, waiting for his release or escape.

But that is a story for another chapter.

Thanks for reading! Until next time . . .

"Rose are red

Violets are blue

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