Wolf’s Eye
Her name was Rue, and she had fangs for a heart.
The night the Wolves came into the village, Rue was sleeping beside her younger sister Rosemary. The two huddled beneath blankets for warmth — as usable firewood was scarce near their home in the dead of winter — and Rosemary had fallen into an uneasy sleep, a soft whistling snore flitting through her nostrils.
But Rue heard the howls coming from outside, their origin near enough to make the hairs on her arms stand on end as she listened. At one point, she even heard nails scraping against the wooden door, followed by a soft snuffling — but then soon enough it was quiet again as the sounds of running paws muffled by snow retreated off into the distance.
When Rue awoke in the morning, she padded out on bare feet to the threshold to open the door before looking down to find dried blood there. Whatever prey had been caught in the nighttime, the Wolves had dragged it away.
Beside Rue, Rosemary looked down at the blood and shivered. “Are they going to come back?”
“Most likely,” Rue said, “but we’ll be ready for them.”
“How?”
“We’ll set a trap,” Rue said, shrugging, as if there were nothing more to the matter. “The hunters who get fresh meat for our village do it. Why can’t we?”
