By Promise Jackson
A blur of red fur flew past the trees of the dense woods, the green leaves fluttering in the strong wind left behind. The untouched dirt was quickly covered in paw prints arranged in a purposeful pattern. All the while, the small fae kept her own fast pace, her clear rings hurrying to carry her forward.
Trailing behind her was the scarlet-furred lycan the town knew as Roderich Marshall. Roderich was one of the oldest residents of Charon; a respectful lycan with firm beliefs and a no-nonsense attitude. Once a large, strong werewolf, the canine’s age has prevented him from being able to live independently. The little fae, Eris, took notice of Miss Red Riding Hood visiting her grandfather everyday with a basket full of groceries. Eris did not think she would get caught if she tried to sneak a danish or two after the kind granddaughter left. However, Roderich had caught the petite fae in the act. That’s how Eris got to where she is now, literally flying for her life with the package of goodies in her tiny little hands.
“Git back here!” the lycan growled “Git back here this instant, young pixie!”
Eris glanced behind her one last time, her eyes blown wide in fear. However, when she turned back around, that fear was soon replaced with pride.
A second later, the lycan watched as the small fae took a turn and seemingly disappeared. The wolf ’s amber eyes squinted in determination “Think you’ve gotten away, uh?” he thought to himself.
He locked his sight on a tree and firmly planted his front paws on the trunk. His
dull charcoal claws dug into the wood as he glared up into the abyss of leaves. “C’mere!”he growled “Tricky pixies tryin’ to outwit an old wolf; git down from there!”
After more minutes of shouting and fussing from the old canine, he finally gained a response; a hiss.
The lycan’s amber eyes widened, his nose twitching in fear. He knew that hiss all too well.
Instead of the pastel butterfly wings of a fae, leathery bat wings began to open up the leaves. Revealed behind the leaves was a female of another race: a vampire.
The elderly lycan reverted back to his human state, his leathery brown skin and age spots adding more to his vulnerable state.
On the contrary, the youthful vampiress nesting in the tree flicked her tongue across her fangs “Is there a problem, sir?” she posed “Something that’s worth harassing a young lady in her home?”
The old lycan began to fumble “N-No ma’am, I-I-I don’t-”
Meanwhile, from afar, Eris sat in another tree, happily munching on the danishes she had collected as she watch the lycan who barked up the wrong tree.