Are you tucked in tight, little one? Good — because tonight the whole forest is about to burst through Grandma's front door, and it is going to be wonderfully, gloriously chaotic.
The Wolf, mid-chase, still wearing Grandma's nightgown (which, I should mention, was really not built for wolf-sized shoulders and had already torn rather comically at one sleeve), skidded to a stop in the cottage doorway.
Standing in the sunny lane, blocking his path entirely, was the woodcutter — a broad, kind-faced man with sawdust on his boots and his axe held sensibly, not to swing at anyone, but simply to look wonderfully solid and reassuring, the way a good strong grown-up looks when children need one.
And around his feet, in front of him, and even scampering up onto the garden fence for a better view, was an entire army of forest friends. The fat brown rabbit thumped his back foot in warning. The three squirrels chattered so loudly and so fast that the Wolf's ears actually hurt. The very determined badger planted himself directly in the doorway, arms — well, paws — crossed. And overhead, circling and diving, the little bluebird who'd started this whole rescue swooped so close to the Wolf's nose that he yelped and stumbled backward, right into the cottage.
"There he is!" cried Red, pointing dramatically from behind the woodcutter's leg, where she'd dashed for safety. "He's got Grandma locked in the pantry!"
"Is that so," said the woodcutter, in the calm, steady voice of someone who has dealt with plenty of mischief in his forest before. He stepped through the doorway, filling it entirely, and looked down at the Wolf — who, tangled in a torn nightgown with a crooked cap slipping over one eye, looked rather less fearsome than he had five minutes ago.
The Wolf, backed into a corner by one woodcutter, one badger, three squirrels, a thumping rabbit, and a very cross bluebird, tried his very best oily smile. "Ah — good sir — this is all a simple misunderstanding — a game, really, nothing more —"
"PANTRY," bellowed the badger, unimpressed. "NOW."
The Wolf, tail tucked all the way between his legs, shuffled toward the pantry door and, with paws that were suddenly shaking rather a lot, slid back the little brass bolt.
The door swung open.
And there stood Grandma — not frightened in the slightest, holding an empty jam jar and looking thoroughly unbothered — who took one look at the sorry, nightgown-tangled Wolf, one look at her brave granddaughter peeking around the woodcutter's leg, and put her hands on her hips.
"Well," said Grandma, "this has certainly been an eventful morning."
Red ran straight into her Grandma's arms, and Grandma held her tight, murmuring "There, there, my brave girl, you did wonderfully" into her hair.
The Wolf, meanwhile, sank down onto the floor in his ruined nightgown, looking small and rather sorry for himself, with the badger still standing guard, arms crossed, right beside him.
"Now then," said the woodcutter, crouching down to look the Wolf properly in his golden eyes, not unkindly, but firmly, the way you'd speak to someone who had made a genuinely poor choice and needed to hear it plainly. "Tricking an old woman. Frightening a child. Is that really the sort of wolf you want to be?"
The Wolf's ears drooped. He looked down at his own paws, still poking out from the too-small nightgown sleeves. For the first time all morning, his clever golden eyes didn't glint with mischief at all.
"No," he said quietly. "No, I don't suppose it is."
Sweet dreams, little one. Tomorrow night, we find out what happens to a wolf who's been caught red-pawed — and whether a forest full of good friends and one very forgiving grandmother might just have room in their hearts for a lonely, silly, sorry old wolf after all.