Little Red Riding Hood dropped her basket of muffins on the side of the road. One or two fell out of the basket and bounced away. She gave the closest one a good stomping with her steel-capped right boot.
“Redda Hode! Pick that up girl. Whaddya think you’re doing?”
Crappola!
It was Constable Bill.
Without a moment’s thought for the consequences, little dressed-in-red riding-a-bike Redda Hode leapt onto her custom-built Harley-Davidson Sportster.
A throaty roar erupted as she kicked the engine over.
But then yellow eyes blinked at the corner of her vision.
Red turned the engine off.
He always knew. Always there, prowling the edges.
She apologised to Constable Bill and began to pick up the muffins.
One day.
One day her heritage would be birthed from within.
On that day the wolf had better watch out.
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