Spoiler! :
Marguerite found herself lying on the hard ground of a little cave. For a moment she thought she had gone blind, but soon she realized it was just incredibly dark. Once her eyes adjusted she could see the smoky tendrils of her breath. She felt a trickle of blood at her temple, and assorted scrapes and bruises, but she didn’t think she was seriously injured. Her real danger was that she wasn’t alone.
The wolf was curled in the other corner, a darker shape against the dim lighting. She could see the puffs of its own hot breath evenly hitting the icy air. It was deeply asleep.
Marguerite couldn’t scream even if she wanted to. Her throat had closed up in terror. She knew she should run, or perhaps try to take on the wolf by herself while it was unaware of her presence, but then a splash of colour caught her eye. A piece of scarlet cloth was tucked between the animal’s front paws.
After seven years, the cloak had been reduced to little more than a rag. It had been too small for her even back then, and now it was tattered and worn. Yet it was still recognizable. It was still hers.
Anger started to well up inside her, leaving no space for fear. How dare this monster keep something so precious? In rage she struggled across the cavern has snatched the scrap of red fabric from the creature’s clutches.
She regretted doing this immediately. In seconds the wolf was awake and ready to pounce, pinning her to the ground. She clung to her prize, sure she was about to die, and convinced she probably deserved it.
The wolf stood over her, hackles raised and blacked eyes bright with fury. She could practically feel the growls rumbling in its chest like low thunder. Yet instead of attacking her, it spoke.
“Are you stupid?”
Now was not the time to feel vindicated, but Marguerite couldn’t help herself. It could talk. She hadn’t imagined it. The familiar voice tugged at the edges of her memory.
“What is your name, little girl?”
“I don’t think I should talk to strangers.”
She shivered as she recalled how he had laughed at her.
“People will start to think you want to die. Wandering alone in the woods. Letting strange men grab you.”
She wanted to protest. Cheyne had not been a stranger, she certainly hadn’t let him grab her, and she definitely did not want to die, although she could see how someone could misinterpret that last one given her recent idiotic actions.
“I almost killed you myself,” the wolf continued. Its gruff voice was oddly articulate, like it had to over-enunciate to simply form the words.
The wolf moved to go stand between her and the entrance she had fallen down. Marguerite contemplated running deeper into the cavern, but knew it would do her no good. It could still catch her easily; especially since she was shaking so hard she couldn’t even stand. She inched back to sit against the wall instead of trying to escape. Fingering the little knife in her pocket lent her a little bravery. The wolf eyed the tattered cloak still held tight to her chest with her other hand.
“Give that back,” it said.
Anger finally returned her voice.
“It’s mine. My grandmother made it for me.”
“I know. You told me that yourself.”
She scowled. “Then why should I let you keep it? Why do you even have this? Is it some kind of trophy?”
The wolf just looked at her for a moment, head tilted.
“You don’t remember what happened, do you?”
She looked away, ashamed. “I don’t want to. You killed my grandmother.”
“No I didn’t,” he said. “And if you thought about it, you’d know I couldn’t have. Because I was with you when she died.”
Marguerite stopped breathing for a moment. It suddenly felt like the chill seeping into her bones had brushed her heart.
“You’re lying. You could have been doing anything before I met you.”
“But I didn’t even know she existed until you told me about her.”
The wolf walked across the cavern until he was close enough to touch. She met his onyx gaze.
“You obviously remember talking to me. What happened next?”
“You chased me,” she breathed. “I ran to my grandmother’s house. And then…”
“And something that wasn’t your grandmother was waiting for you,” he finished for her. “Tell me, if that was me, what were you running from?”
She couldn’t answer. Abruptly he turned and sauntered into the darkness.
“You believe what you like,” he called back to her.
Marguerite finally forced herself to get up and chased after him. He was gone though. The cavern opened up, and she could hear voices calling to her as she stepped out into the light.
“Here!” She yelled, realizing she was now at the top of the cliff. “I’m up here!”
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