Red Rider RIsing: Book 2 of the Red Rider Saga by D.A. Randall (ebook e reader .txt) 📕

No, Helena, no. It must have – must have simply appeared that way – from a distance.” Swallowing, he gathered his breath and straightened. “Helena.

We’ll – We can clean up – your cottage. I’ll help –

restore it.” He sounded as though he meant to convince himself as much as to console me.

“There’s nothing to restore. They took my home. They’ve taken everything.”

His eyes narrowed. “Who has taken

everything?”

“The wolves.”

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He said nothing at first. He simply stood there, slowing his breathing, studying me. “Helena.

You have a home. With me. I’ll stay here if you wish. Or you can come to my hovel. I’ll see to all your needs.”

My breath came evenly as I watched the empty woods. The dark forest of wolves that had swallowed up Mama and Suzette. I had to stay angry to keep from screaming. “That’s very kind of you. But I’ll see to my own needs.”

The wind whistled between us.

“I know you can fend for yourself, Helena.

But we all have needs besides food and shelter.

Your father and – your mother – they were my closest friends, since before you were born. And you and Suzette …” His voice caught in his throat.

“Helena, your family meant everything to me. I will not abandon you. Nor will I let you abandon yourself.”

I stood like a statue before the woods. As a child, I always saw Father Vestille as a source of assurance and comfort. But there was no comfort here at the forest’s edge. I scanned its endless blackness for signs of movement. Any signs of the wolf or its companions.

Nothing.

I turned from it and strode to Crimson, climbing onto his back. I snapped at the reins and galloped past Father Vestille without a word.

I returned to the village and rode straight to L’atelier de Forgeron de Leóne. When I threw the 148

door open, Pierre seemed delighted to see me twice in the same day. Then his face fell.

“Red? What’s wrong?”

“Can I sleep here tonight?”

“Of course, Red. We’ll make some room for you in the loft. What happened?”

I tried to speak clearly. My voice rattled.

“There was an attack. On – our cottage. Mama and Suzette – They’re gone.”

The color drained from his face. “Suzette?

How –? What happened?”

“The wolves. They took my – The wolves

took them. They’re gone. Can I sleep here tonight?”

“Yes. Sure, I said you could. Just – sit over here. Did anyone else see it?”

I walked to the stool he offered, brushed sawdust from it, and sat. Like a horse being led to its stable, without thought or will or emotion.

“Father Vestille was there. He’s – He’s been helping out, looking in on us more often, since Papa died. He wants me to stay with him.”

Pierre waited for more. “But you don’t want to. Why not?”

I pressed my lips tight, feeling my blood boil again.

“Red, what is it? Why are you so mad at him?”

“Because he did nothing!” I burst.

“Grand’Mere died and he did nothing. Francois died and he did nothing. Papa died and he couldn’t stop the wolf, couldn’t even find it. And now –!” I 149

couldn’t speak their names again. Couldn’t say again that I had lost everyone. Even Suzette.

“But – he’s trying to –.”

“Please, Pierre. Don’t tell me what he’s trying to do. Please don’t tell me people are trying to help, or that the King will send soldiers, or that everything will be all right, because it won’t.

Nothing is going to be all right, ever again.”

“Red …”

I fell into his arms and clung to him. I needed someone who could understand and let me lean against him and cry. Someone who wouldn’t look down on me for my weakness or my irresponsibility or my ugliness. Someone who would let me cry, and never reveal it to anyone if I asked him. I buried my wet cheeks against his chest and sobbed in gulps, craving his comfort. He held me until I finished, then gently released me as I pulled away. He gave me a crooked smile and offered me a rag, beating some sawdust from it.

I took it gratefully and wiped my eyes and nose. “This never happened.”

He wrinkled