"Love what I did to babushka, lil' Huntress?" the wolf asked, a vile gleam in his eyes.

Disdain hit her so hard she staggered on the spot. She could sense he was reminiscing his... pleasant times. A growl seemed to come from nowhere, yet she realized as she swung the axe with all her rage and might, that it'd come from her. But this time she didn't miss. The blade of the axe nestled deep in his cranium with a sickening tuck. She was certain if she let go of the handle, the axe would stand on the wolf’s head. But she held on fast with all the anger simmering in her. Blood oozed out of the large wound, then flowed to the snow, tainting it crimson as some of it dissipated with the heat of the liquid. Blood also ran down her face, and as she looked down, she saw it coated the wolf’s coat she wore, dripping, dripping down the tips of the fur locks. 

Masha pulled and pulled, bones cracking and creaking, and while this sickened her, it gave her energy. Energy she needed to accept responsibility for her new role. With one last look at her grandma’s house, which had just now become hers, Masha put a booted foot on the cranium and pulled. The axe finally came free and she stumbled out with the rebound. Smirking, villainous pride dancing in her eyes, she twirled the weapon in admiration. Still twirling it menacingly, the Huntress turned to woods and narrowed her eyes. The acrid waft of wolves reached her nostrils and she saw red auras dancing in the dark. Their howling came quickly right before the running footsteps. Masha snorted at their futility and sprinted after them, axe now steady and mighty in her hands. Just like the wolf’s coat she’d slipped on, she embraced her fate wholeheartedly. She was now the village’s guardian, for better and worst. One fought wolves with a worst wolf: a Huntress with the ruthlessness of a wolf. 

Something might have broken in her, yet something more powerful rose up. And she ran straight into danger with the promise to herself and Babushka to tear down all of the wolves. May their red blood stain the Russian grounds forever.

Nowadays, children and villagers tell her tale and exploits to scare wolves away and prevent mean-spirited members from straying from the path. Her story falls like an axe on the fears and doubts. They say she's still roaming the woods, protecting them. It's been a while since a wolf attacked them, indeed. But when they talk of her, she wears another name just like her new iconic and bloody cloak: Little Red Riding Hood.

So, close your eyes and fall asleep

Count the little wooly sheep

Tucked so tightly you must keep

Or he will come for you