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The weasel-wolves were not hard to find.
Actually, they were pretty hard to miss. The road to the cottage had trees on both sides, and lurking behind each tree was a weasel-wolf.
Harriet put her hand on her sword and narrowed her eyes.
It was odd, though. They didn’t actually look dangerous. There were no glaring eyes or gleaming fangs, and nobody seemed to be obviously slavering for hamster meat.
Instead, they looked worried.
“It’s weird,” said Wilbur as they kept riding. “They don’t look like they’re about to attack.”
“Qweerrrkkkk...” muttered Hyacinth. She kept trying to inch away from the trees, which didn’t work very well because then she was closer to the trees on the other side of the road.
“They’re weasel-wolves,” said Harriet. “They’re always about to attack. I once walked through the middle of a pack while they were sleeping and they attacked in their sleep .”
The little girl tromping down the path ahead of them didn’t seem frightened. Red glared at the wolves as if they had personally offended her.
Harriet slowed the quail and looked around.
The weasel-wolves in the woods all immediately attempted to look like bushes or trees or bits of moss. They weren’t very good at it.
“Hurry up!” called Red. “For the best princess in the whole wide world, you’re really slow!”
“Look,” said Harriet, annoyed, “something really weird is going on here and we’re all trying to pretend like it’s not, which is stupid. Why aren’t they attacking?”
“Then why did you come and ask for help?” asked Harriet, baffled.
“You should be scared!” added Wilbur, who was having a hard time staying in the saddle, as Hyacinth wobbled from one side of the path to the other. “Weasel-wolves are scary!”
“These aren’t,” said Red, over her shoulder. “ These are just normal weasel-wolves. Some of them are even sort of cute. It’s the big one you have to worry about!”
“The leader,” said Red darkly. “When he shows up, then it’ll be dangerous. He’s the worst and meanest and stinkiest! And he only comes out at night!”
“Qwerrrrk...” said Mumfrey, which was Quail for “I don’t like the sound of this...”
Harriet frowned.
She looked over at the weasel-wolves in the trees. The weasel-wolves had bunched up into a large group. She had to admit, they still didn’t look hostile, though. They looked like small children who had lost their parents somewhere in a crowd and didn’t know where to go next.
Harriet wasn’t used to weasel-wolves that didn’t attack. It made her wonder what on earth was going on.
“I liked it better when they tried to eat me,” she said to Wilbur. “Then I waved my sword around and they waved their claws around, and everybody knew where they stood.”
“Errr...” Wilbur wasn’t sure what to say about that. He rather liked not being attacked, but the weasel-wolves were certainly acting strange.
Harriet scowled, then came to a decision. “Hold up, Red!” she called. “I want to see what’s going on with these weasel-wolves.”
“Maybe you should go on ahead,” said Wilbur. “Except—err—well, no, they might attack, so maybe don’t—” He floundered. Obviously the little girl had already walked through the gathered weasel- wolves, so she couldn’t be in that much danger, could she?
Harriet had no such concerns. “Run along to your grandmother’s house, then,” she said, drawing her sword. “We’ll meet you there when we can.”
“Ugh!” said Red. Then she cleared her throat. “I mean, okay, Princess! But please come quickly, before they eat my grandmother!”
She hurried away.
“Look out!” said Wilbur. “There’s two weasel-wolves... in front... of you...”
He trailed off. Red was walking right up to them, without a trace of fear.
Harriet started forward, sword at the ready.
The little girl stared at the weasel-wolves.
She was tiny compared to them and all she did was stare, but both the weasels inched backward.
Harriet couldn’t blame them. There was something disturbingly intense about that stare. Red looked as if she were glaring into their very souls.
They slunk into the woods, making small, whimpering noises.
Red made a sound like “Hmmf!” and stomped down the road.
As soon as Red had vanished, a sigh went through the weasel-wolves. It sounded almost like... relief?
Hyacinth the quail was in no mood to feel relieved. She qwerked and bounced up and down on her toes anxiously, ready to run.
“Err... Harriet?” said Wilbur. “Is this a good idea?”
“There is something very weird going on here!” hissed Harriet. “That is a very strange little girl!”
Wilbur frowned. “I thought she was very sweet.”
“You would.”
“What’s that supposed to—no.” Wilbur held up a hand. “Let’s not do this while we’re surrounded by predators!”
“That’s the other weird bit! The weasel-wolves! They aren’t supposed to be scared of little girls staring at them! They attack people.”
“Sometimes, yeah. I mean, so do you, though.”
“Hey! I only attack bad people!”
Wilbur waited.
“Fine, fine, one time it was some actors, but it was a really realistic dragon costume and I didn’t realize it was actually four rats in a suit. And I did apologize. And Dad paid for the repairs to the papier-mâché.”
“I don’t think these are weasel costumes. But—hsst! What are they doing?”
The weasel-wolves had begun to move. One by one, they pulled back, leaving a broad corridor down the middle of the pack.
Down that corridor came the biggest weasel-wolf that Harriet had ever seen.