There was the old abandoned wood cabin in the heart of the forest, where little Hoodie made her home. Before Hoodie moved in, the wolves had used it as a kind of shelter. But when the poor little girl with no family appeared in the forest, the wolves were unsure of what to do. The least they could do, was to give her a suitable home....
Little Hoodie didn't rush on her way to Grandma's. Along the way, she paused more than once to "chat" with her animal friends. By the time she reached Grandma's house, almost half an hour had passed. But even as she approached Grandma's house, she felt that something was not right.
Slowing down as she left the dense trees and walked into the clearing where Grandma's cottage was, she felt a certain foreboding atmosphere.
Walking closer to the house, she then noticed that the front door was open. No... not just open, in the normal sense. It had been broken in. Standing in front of the wrecked front door, little Hoodie felt the woodwork delicately with her fingers. The latch was broken off from the doorframe, leaving splinters sticking out of the door on the inside where the latch was ripped off by a large amount of force exerted upon the door from the outside. There were scratches all over the door, and a large indent at knee level, where someone must have rammed the door very hard.
Hoodie began to feel frightened. Carefully, she pushed the door open and stuck her head in.
It took a while for the wolves to convey the message to the little frigthened girl that they wanted her to follow them. After all, something dreadful had just happened to her family, something that she probably couldn't understand, and who knows how long she had been hiding in those bushes, all alone. Eventually, however, the little girl seemed to understand the wolves' intentions, and she got up and followed them.
At first, she called them "little doggies", but after a while she conceded that they were anything but. She came to the conclusion that they must have been wolves, since wolves lived in forests, and doggies didn't. The wolves led her to the wood cabin in the heart of the forest, where she lay down and slept.
There was no one in the living room. Hoodie pushed the door further and entered the little cottage. The living room was surpirisingly intact; whoever had busted in the door hadn't wasted any energy on the living room furniture. But there was something on the floor. Kneeling down, Hoodie found a track of very light dirt pawprints. The pawprints appeared to be... wolf prints, and they led toward the kitchen.
Of course, that was almost nine years ago. The little girl was so very young, and it was unlikely that she would remember any of this in a few years' time. In addition to whatever traumatization she had been through during the bandit attack, the little girl proved to have no memories beyond the day she made the forest her home.
I'm starting to wonder if this story is getting a little too unrealistic, but another part of me doesn't care.
Somehow, I'm not sure if any part of my story is directly plausible. Alright, little Hoodie has a tragic history, having been orphaned by a bandit attack in the middle of the forest. Fine, she was taken in and brought up by a pack of wild wolves. All these are acceptable elements of this sort of story. But do they flow alongside each other well and come together smoothly as a single story? Well, of course! But I still feel that something is missing. Oh well. Only time can tell.
Strangely enough, I don't have much to say today. Today is the third day in a row I have been updating my blog, as promised, and it looks like I might even extend it to five days. Today's bit of story had been typed out in the high hills, so it was just a simple matter of copy-pasta to update today.
Whenever people actually comment in my blogs, I feel like I should reply by commenting back, but that never works. Blogger wouldn't allow one of its members to flood their own blogs with comments from themselves. I'm reduced to resorting to the Cbox, which is kind of difficult, since people who comment might not look at the Cbox. But, you play with the hand you're dealt.