Lupine
His ears prick up and rouse him from his sleep.
She is singing.
The last survivor of the clever ones surmises she is alone.
The tip of his nose moves from side to side – sensing the air, collecting information as to how far she is.
And at what speed she is travelling.
He stands and stretches his too-lean body. It has been a harsh winter for his kinsmen.
Times are hard, but there are more sweet smelling bipeds moving closer to the forest than there used to be. And there are fewer wolves, bears, and boars than ever. So he stretches his paws, first front ones admiring his sharp claws, then rear. Breathes in the air, he turns his nose to where he knows the biped is skipping her way towards him, and licks his lips in anticipation of sweet flesh.
Snaking through the ferns and shrubs he circles his prey. She is picking spring flowers. He hones into her fragile voice: learns she is heading to a cottage that is further along the path. Perhaps: he licks his lips, there could be two meals for the price of one, and once more ignores the rumble of his stomach to head her off.
The old lady was expecting company, but not the visitor she received. Fancy, opening your door when, you live alone in a wild wood?
Lupine had no sympathy for stupid bipeds, especially sinewy, grizzly bipeds.
He donned the shawl, the lacy mobcap and placed the spectacles across his handsome nose. Taking a look in the mirror before slipping between the sheets he leant back against the pillows: and burped.
Pretending to doze – his ears pricked again…
…Ahh, he grinned, sweet tender meat, at last.
(c) 2024 Pat Barnett.
“Lupine” is a masterful subversion of Little Red Riding Hood told from the wolf’s predatory perspective. Through vivid sensory details and calculated internal monologue, we experience the methodical hunting process of “the last survivor of the clever ones” as he stalks his prey. The wolf’s clinical assessment of humans as mere “sweet flesh” and his strategic positioning to intercept both the girl and her grandmother creates a chilling atmosphere. What makes this retelling particularly effective is how it strips away the moral undertones of the traditional fairy tale, instead presenting the raw reality of a predator’s survival instinct. The story’s power lies in its stark portrayal of the wolf’s unsentimental worldview, where humans are nothing more than “stupid bipeds” to be hunted, creating an unsettling perspective that forces readers to reconsider the familiar tale from the antagonist’s point of view.
Pat Barnett’s journey from post-war Manchester to the atmospheric landscapes of North Yorkshire has profoundly shaped her storytelling. After a varied career that included working with early computers and a decade in Australia with the Noosa Scribes, she settled in Pickering, where she co-founded The Wordbotherers. Her diverse life experiences infuse her writing with authenticity and depth, particularly evident in her ability to transform familiar tales into fresh, thought-provoking narratives.
“Creatures” is a captivating collection that reimagines classic tales through unexpected perspectives. Drawing from Yorkshire’s rich folklore and Barnett’s keen observation of human nature, these stories blur the line between ordinary and extraordinary. If you enjoy clever retellings that challenge traditional narratives while maintaining their mythic power, you’ll find yourself enchanted by this unique anthology.
