The Woodsman

t h e w o l f -pt. 02/10

A/N

Kind of trying a new writing style this book, tell me what you think of it. :) Or if you can even tell.

The Woods are feared. The Woods are what gets your knuckle slapped if you dare to step a foot into its timbre of danger. The Woods are what Ezra taught Rosalie to stay away from, warned her when he would thread her cloak and flip her red hood on her head.

The Woods are what cursed their family; it's what the town whispered about and what kept Ezra up at night.

The Woods is where the Wolf lives.

*

There is a red cloak that floods over Wye's Valley- the tiny village of a hundred- but with it, follows the woodsman. The two never seem to be parted, the young girl with the rosy red cheeks and the boy with porcelain skin and strong hands.

The Cerises weren't of wealth; their father had been buried deep in the ground and had been followed by their mother when Ezra had barely turned fifteen. But what they lacked in fortune, they made up for in vanity.

The two of them were beautiful.

With lips the color of candy floss and cobalt eyes that could make any man's hard heart melt, Rosalie promised a life of beauty.

But she was not what the town held in their eyes, next to her brother, she was just another rosy-faced kid.

Ezra was absolutely stunning, the boy- no, the man- almost reached six foot with long legs that were covered in threadbare trousers, in each stride they promised strong chorded muscles. His lithe body held the eyes of anyone in the village, men that had never thought of anyone but a woman stopping to watch the way the boy reaches down to his sister and kisses her nose when she touches the constellation of freckles on his porcelain cheeks.

With a pretty enough face to have enough men raising an eyebrow and licking their lips, and broad enough shoulders to make the women swoon, it was a troubled existence that led to hands getting bloody and Rosalie seeing too much at such a young age.

When Wye's Valley saw the Cerises, the women of the town beckoned them to their windows and asked if they needed anything, books, you're always reading Ezra; I have a lovely one my husband traded a brick of bread for. Or you're both growing so quickly, come in- stay for dinner- I insist.

Staying for dinner meant Ezra sitting with his hands braiding Rosalie's hair in a way not to let his knuckles connect to the sons that lived in the home- with their hungry eyes and rough hands that'd nick his chin. Taking a book meant an unofficial acceptance to a date to one of the most eligible brides of Wye's Valley.

But staying with their grandmother, eating bitter dried meat and burnt rolls while reading the same book to Rosalie for the twentieth time was better than any evening of rich meals or new fairytales.

*

The wolf was coming.

Three days and it'd be here, when Ezra would be locked up in the town's church the monster would be prowling the streets- it wouldn't leave until it had something- someone- to eat.

Last year, the entire village had been compacted into the small church that was meant to fit only fifty for nearly a week until an old man kissed his wife and walked down from the pews, opened the door and dropped his cross-necklace on the floor.