The Woodsman and the Wolf

The frost lingering longer in the mornings let me know that winter was closing in on us yet again. I liked to blame the frost for my aching bones, for my need to linger under the covers next to my wife’s warm body. I had worked out in the woods all my life. I was used to the toll of being a woodsman. Never once did I think to blame the stiffness in my shoulders or my back on my advancing years. I would drop dead wielding an ax if it pleased God.

A gentle laugh beside me served as a reminder that I had yet to rise from the bed. “Your sons have already taken themselves to the woods, Jean. I can hear their axes in the distances.”

“So can I,” I whispered as another round of tapping echoed through the window.

“I left some bread and cheese on the table for you,” my wife told me.

She twisted off her back to her side, taking with her the quilt we shared. The cold made me shiver, but in the same breath, it forced me to my feet to find my tunic and my trousers. I gathered them as quickly as my aging body allowed, dressing to the steady rhythm of my wife’s breathing. I descended the ladder from our loft to the main room to find a small sack resting on the table as promised. I smiled, my dearest Isabelle knew me too well. As I walked towards the door, I snatched the small sack from its resting place and stuffed it into my coat pocket before I put it on. Next, I slid my feet into my boots and stepped outside.

I kept my ax hanging on the wall next to the door on the porch, along with every other tool I used for my trade. My sons had already gathered their own saws and axes. No doubt they would have a tree already felled by the time I arrived. My body would appreciate it in the morning the fewer trees I chopped down. I grabbed my blade off its hook and followed the sound of the tapping of an ax against a tree trunk.

A short time later, the tree crashed to the ground and my boys cheered that they had not been caught under the thick trunk. I whispered a prayer that my boys had not gotten hurt. God knows how many times I had seen my fellow woodsmen lose either life or limb thanks to a falling tree. We spent the morning cutting the tree down, stacking it for our employer to gather later.

Near the noon hour, I caught a glimpse of a red cloak in the woods. Everyone in the village knew who wore that cloak: the headman’s daughter. She only wore in the woods, when she was on her way to her grandmother’s cottage, so us woodsmen could see her better. I watched her for a moment before joining my sons again in work. We stayed busy for another hour –until my sons’ growling stomachs could stand their hunger no more. Three stumps stood around a small fire pit, embers still steaming from the fire my boys had lit on their arrival to keep warm.

“I saw a wolf earlier,” my eldest boy Alain boasted as we ate.

“So did I,” Denis, my other son, agreed with a nod. “I think we’ve seen more this year than ever before.”

“Do you think it’s a sign, papa?” Alain asked.

I frowned. “Omens are the devil’s work, lad. Let’s do our best not to attract his attention.”

I left it at that. I refused to think of the news I had heard from the world outside our village. For a number of years, people had been dying by the hundreds. Thank God this plague had yet to visit us, and I prayed our Lord would continue to smile upon us. Fewer people meant fewer hunters, which left more for the wolves. Every year it seemed the wolves grew bolder and bolder. I heard many whispers every time I made the trek into town: one wolf could eat an entire man and still be hungry. A part of me knew those whispers were outrageous but another part of me feared it to be true. But not once would I speak those words out loud to my sons.

We refused to linger long after we filled our stomachs. We had more trees to cut down, more firewood to cut up. As we worked, I kept glancing towards the path, to watch for the headman’s daughter. I had watched her trek to her grandmother’s house enough times to know how long she stayed: no more than two hours passed the noon hour. So when I didn’t see her after the third hour, I put a stop to our work.

“Go check on your mother, lads,” I ordered.

“What is it, Papa?” Denis asked.

“I have not seen the little girl in the red riding hood head back home from her grandmother’s house,” I admitted.

Neither boy needed any more encouragement. Both my sons grabbed their axes and ran towards our house. I picked up my own ax and followed the little girl’s path to her grandmother’s cottage. Along the trail she had taken, I spotted her little boot prints. To my horror, I found wolf prints next to hers. “Mon Dieu,” I whispered as I forced my legs to sprint towards the old woman’s house.

I reached the edge of the house as two voices screamed over a growl and snarl. With all my strength I kicked the door open to find the child and her grandmother being chased around the house by the largest wolf I had ever seen. My entry startled all three of them. I thanked God that the feral beast turned its attention on me, giving the child and old woman a chance to race out of the house to safety.

The wolf snarled at me through narrow eyes. If I did not act quickly, it would attack me. Though I would prefer to get through this unharmed, if it meant that little girl and her grandmother stayed unharmed, I would endure whatever harm this beast did to me. Once or twice the wolf made short bursts at me, forcing me to step back towards the door. The third time it tried to attack me, I hit it with the blade of my ax on the forehead. I struck the beast hard enough to knock it out. As it collapsed to the ground, both my boys rushed inside.

“Help me, lads,” I ordered. “Let’s get this foul creature outside and killed.”

It took all three of us to drag the creature from the house into the woods. My son Alain chopped the head from the body once we had a hole dug in the ground. I left the burial to my sons as I went in search of the little girl and her grandmother. I found them halfway to my own house. I smiled at them, letting them know the wolf had been taken care of.

“Please, come rest in my cottage,” I said. “I’ll send my sons into town to alert the headman.”

I walked them to the door of my house where my wife waited, her face pale. She sighed in relief at the sight of us and begged for our guests to join us inside. In a heartbeat, Isabelle had the little girl wrapped in a thick blanket and sitting in an oversized chair in front of the fire. Near dusk, her father arrived at our door to hear me recount the events of the day to him personally with my sons dangling on my every word.

“I thank God you were nearby, Master Jean,” the headman told me.

I smiled. “In these times, we must look out for each other. I’ll see that your ma’s house is properly fixed so no other wolves can get inside myself.”

The headman thanked me again before gathering up his little daughter in his arms and escorting his mother back to the village where she would stay until we fixed her house.