In a village at the edge of a wide forest lived a girl who was often seen in a little red hood. Her grandmother had stitched it from warm cloth, and it fit so well that people forgot her other name and simply called her Little Red Hood.
One morning, Little Red Hood’s mother set a basket on the table containing a small loaf wrapped in linen, a pot of honey sealed with wax, and a cup of butter covered with a leaf. “Take this to Grandmother,” she said, tying the basket handle with string. “Walk straight through the forest, and do not linger where you should not.”
Little Red Hood placed the basket in the crook of her arm and stepped onto the forest road. The pines stood close together and the ground was dark with fallen needles. Now and then a sunbeam lay across the path like a pale ribbon, and she walked from ribbon to ribbon, keeping her feet where the way was worn.
Not far in, a wolf came out from behind a fern. He did not leap or snarl; he only matched his steps to hers, as if he had always been meant to walk there. “Good day, Little Red Hood,” he said, and his voice sounded smooth, like water over stones.
Little Red Hood answered him, because he spoke as politely as a traveler. The wolf glanced at the basket and then at the red hood. “Where are you going so early?” he asked. …
6 chapters
