A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn

The Ravening Red Wolf | January 15, 2010

This is the fable I was told, it’s also know as the story of Roter Reitwerewolf or more universally as Little Red Riding Hood. See if you can pick the moral of the story.

There once was a beautiful woman with hair of spun gold the colour of flames.

She had come across a small cottage, deep in the Ardennen and let herself in. It was not her home. She was in fact far from home, in a land that existed in a memory of time long past. But she needed to rest.

A hunter lived in the cottage, and upon his return from a hunting trip, he found the woman in his home.

The hunter knew by her beauty alone she was trouble. Piercing blue eyes and such pale smooth skin, delicate pink lips and ripe bosom. It was unusual to see someone of her beauty in his part of the world. A dark corner of constant battle, for souls, minds and peace.

She did not belong here, in his land, in his heath. Yet there she lay before him a heavyset cloak of red, wrapped around her. The woman was startling to the contrast of his drab and bare cottage. The hunter thought the cloak might be a drape of some kind, shaped to be clothing that served her protection from the harsh elements of the land. Or her drawing card to entice men, like him. The cloak reminded him of the dark colour of bloodshed.

“What are you doing in my home?” The hunter growled at the woman, startling her.

“Please, I only seek shelter and food. I shall not stay more than the sun rising.”

The hunter looked her over head to feet “Why do you run?” He asked.

“I do not run.” The woman laughed. “I was out walking and lost my way, before finding myself here, in need of shelter as night falls. There are creatures in the forest, that make noises that scare me.”

The hunter frowned deeply. “There is mud along the bottom of your cloak and you are without shoes.”

“I slipped on the mud near the brook, my shoes came off and I lost one to the stream. I had no purpose for just one shoe. So I left it behind and decided to walk on.”

He looked at the woman suspiciously. The hunter grunted. “You may share what food I have.”

“Are you a hunter?” She said pointing to the knife in his hand.

He nodded his once.

The woman looked about the small cottage and stood before the fireplace, warming herself. When the hunter looked over at her again, as he prepared the meat stew they would eat, the woman had taken off the cloak and dropped it to her feet. She was naked

“For food and shelter, the night ahead, I will let you lay with me.”

The hunter stopped carving meat for the hearty stew. With bloodied knife still in hand, he walked towards her. He had never seen anyone as beautiful as her.

“You do not know what you say, nor should you say it.” He said, stopping before her, his eyes gazing over the curves of her body.

The woman looked too beautiful to ignore, she smelled like woodland flowers.

“But I am here now, do you not seek comfort from me?” She asked him, watching his face carefully.

Before the hunter could clear the thoughts of her from his head and return to his dinner work, the woman snatched the knife out of his hand and stabbed the hunter through his heart.

As she pulled out the knife slowly, the woman watched the hunter drop to the ground.

“I am not what I seem and you are a fool to believe so. And I am a fool if I believed you would be gentle with me, or ask nothing of me in return for food and shelter here.”

The woman waited until the hunter was laying on the ground with barely a breath left in him.

She threw her head back and letting out the howl of the victorious wolf. She looked back at the hunter and plunged the knife into his chest again.

“When I said I wanted a morsel of food, I meant you.” She growled and crouched down on all fours beside the man.

A ripple of the hunter’s blood touched her hand, as it seeped out of his side and sprayed out wildly into her face, from his open chest. The woman smiled and licked her lips and bathed in the glorious red life.

Outside the moon shone full and proud. And again she howled. The sound echoed far and wide, the sound of victory, the call of the werewolf.

Roter Reitwerewolf’s wolf, sensed the moon and ripped through her. She shook violently, arched her back and dug her nails into the floorboards. Her body stretched, bone pulling against skin. Red and golden fur burst along her arms like flames, her nails changed to claws, her legs, became the powerful legs of a wolf.

She cried out, feeling alive as the shape shift pushed her human form inwards, and a werewolf stood, growling over the dead body of the hunter. She tore apart the man on the floor.

You see, the hunter meant no harm to the wair woman. But she did not see the situation of her being there that way.

There was a war brewing, between God’s people and his beasts in the hunter’s home land. A war of what was seen to be right, and what some people believed to be wrong. A war that Roter Reitwerewolf was ensared in.

Hunters had set up posse’s, who by night time, with flaming torch in hand and guns at the ready, searched long and hard for the abomination of woodland black magic. Roter Reitwerewolf was being hunted. They tracked and chased the wair, whenever the full moon followed the blue moon.

For Roter Reitwerewolf, it was the only way she knew to survive.

She sustained her werewolf for the whole night, after feeding on the hunter.

In the morning, she slipped into his clothes, and tied an old shirt around her head, as a scaf, covering up her beautifully, alluring hair and headed off. She looked like a peasant again. Hiding amongst the village people of the Barrle-Hertog and Barrle_Nassau.

Disguised as one of them, outsmarting the very people who were hunting her, hunting for a red wolf.


1 Comment »

  1. This one’s a pretty awesome story. Can’t believe i missed this.

    Comment by Blackredbluefire — March 29, 2010 @ 9:42 pm

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