WHO: Greta [narrative] WHEN: 16th December WHERE: The woods WHAT: Visits to the forest for her own purposes
The wolves were away and the forest was Greta's alone. Standing still, eyes closed, Greta could hear the sounds of the night all around her: the small mammals that moved through the underbrush, the insects (unidentifiable, numbered in their thousands) that filled the cold air with their clicking and scratching, the night birds that called out to their own, the frogs in the tall grass by the closest stream, the heavy breath of cars that past on the road three miles south.
And her own breath as she drew it in, so cold that it felt like ice was forming along the inside of her lungs. She clenched and unclenched her fists in their leather gloves, reminding her joints to stay awake and active in this chill.
She had run here from the road, moving not at great speed but without pause. Endurance was what she had worked hard for. Wolves were like that too, and Greta admired it: not only in her own mythical wolves but in their brothers, the wild ones that wore no human skins, that spoke no human language. Wolves were unceasing, unstopping, unresting. They did not tire. Greta longed to be like that, unstoppable in the face of everything. She wore a human skin, but she couldn't shed it to wear any other. This was all she was, and her limbs weren't built to keep going like theirs.
Still, Greta was proud of the strength she'd gained. She walked everywhere in the city now, hardly ever catching a ride unless it was for the purposes of safety. Walks of a few hours didn't phase her like she would have done years ago. She cherished them now, cherished making her muscles work hard.
Tonight was the first time that Greta had come to this forest without looking for a wolf. She knew that they were out of the city, off in Hollywood chasing strange ideas. She climbed up through the winter scrub - the bushes that cut her legs and arms in summer clothes, but couldn't bite through these thick, warm layers - and pushed her way into the cave that smelled of wolves.
How could a smell so animal and alien become to comforting? Into the back of the cave she moved and by the time it started to gently rain outside, Greta was curled up into the leaf litter like a cub, safe and happy and kept warm beneath her red cloak.