text: ‘Humans are smart,’ his Mama had said. Between the gentle embrace of her teeth, neck prickling with heat as she carried him by the scruff, she had spoke that wisdom into his skin. Muzzle held high even as she had limped her way into their home, leaving bloody prints in the shape of her paws. ‘They are crafty’, she had continued, softly laying him on the cave floor, ‘Cautious and paranoid. *Dangerous*.’ Then she had lowered herself to the ground with a groan, leaning on her side. Stretched out her hind leg to inspect the wound there, fur matted and tinged with red. Licked at the side of his face when he had shrunk back and whimpered, eyes wide at the sight of her blood. ‘Don’t cry, little one. Take this as a lesson,’ she had whispered, slowly rubbing her neck into the space between his ears, ‘You may not have weapons like they do, but you have your *mind*. You have to be smarter than they are. Slyer. More cunning. Promise for me, son. Promise me that you will.’ ‘I promise, Mama,’ he had shakingly said, ‘I *promise*.’ And she had *smiled*, muzzle pulling back from her pretty teeth, eyes glazed. He had tucked himself against her chest, more terrified than he had ever been in his life. She hadn’t made it through the night. From then on, he had hardened. Adapted. *Survived*. Learned how to protect himself against the humans, how to keep himself fed. Knows which ones to go after and which ones to leave. Teaches himself to be wary. So, when he sees the little child in the red hood, he doesn’t immediately go after it. He stalks and waits and watches, hides behind trees and foliage. Eyes alert and ears flicking to catch any sounds. (Human children are inherently naive, he has learned. Clumsy too, struggling to walk when pups are already hunting on their own, helping out the pack. Their easy targets when they are solitary but it’s rare that they ever are. Almost always surrounded by the others in their pack. Not so different in that regard, he thinks wryly.) But, this child is well and truly *alone*. Humming to itself as it skips its way through the winding path, a basket held in its hand. It’s unaware and it’s careless. When it stops to talk to a squirrel that had happened to walk into its path, he thinks, *this is the one, this is it*. When it stops again to sniff some flowers, he makes himself known. Slinks out from between the leaves of a bush and watches as the child jumps back, blinking owlishly at him. “I’m sorry,” he says slowly, keeps his jaw loose and his tongue heavy, his maw feeling foreign like it always does when he speaks the human’s language, “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I just saw you walking here and wanted to say hello.” The child tilts its head before it smiles, jittery sounds coming from its mouth that he figures is laughter. It boldly walks up to him and lays its hand on his head, rubbing it. He fights the urge to snap at its fingers. “That’s okay, Mr. Wolf!” it says, patting his head before returning its arm back to its side, “It’s very nice to meetcha! My name’s Red, what’s yours?” He slowly wags his tail in a show of contentment, wiggling his ears in a way that has the child laughing again. He doesn’t try to smile as it tends to have the opposite effect on humans. “Red? What a peculiar name,” he replies, keeps his voice soft and light, “Though, I suppose, I’m not one to talk as I have no name. You may call me whatever you like.” The child brings its hands to its stretched cheeks, rocking on its feet. “I’ll stick with Mr. Wolf then!” it says, raising its arms like it just accomplished something, “Also, Red isn’t my real name, silly! It’s just what people call me.” It lifts its shoulders in a jerky movement that he still hasn’t found the exact meaning of. The child is still smiling so it mustn’t be bad. “Well, Red, may I ask what you are doing out here?” he questions, slightly tilting his head down to peer at her with wide eyes. “I’m here to see my granny, she lives just down this path, near the brook,” it says, “She’s sick and I brought some food to make her better!” It raises the basket up to his snout but he pays no attention to it, mind already working. (Granny means grandmother, he remembers. An elderly human, female; usually weak. And this one happens to be *ill*. If he plays this right, he can have more than what he had aimed for. He could have a feast like one he hasn’t had for *years*.) He has to fight down the pleased growl that crawls up his throat. “That’s a *shame*. I *truly* hope she gets better,” he says, flatting his ears and hunching his body in an appropriate fashion, “I wish there was someway I can help- Ah!” The child jumps at his exclamation, circling its arms. “I just remembered!” he continues, eyes glittering, “There’s a flower back from where you came, small and with blue petals. It soothes muscle aches and sores, if you eat it.” And the child looks at him with its mouth wide open, teeth displayed. Its hands are pressed together in front of its face. “*Really*?” it says, and he bobs his head up and down in a way he’s seen humans do a million times over; the child smiles big in response, “Thank you, *thank you* Mr. Wolf! I’m gonna go look for it right now!” It runs down the path, red cloak billowing around it and he finally allows himself to smile. He stalks up the road in the opposite direction, tail wagging softly behind him. He thinks he quite likes the name Mr. Wolf.