Rose Red
an excerpt

She moves through the first group of trees, and suddenly it all gets ever darker. The wind through the leaves of the trees sound exactly like the rain, and she develops the feeling that she is very closed in. She should come out of the woods soon though.
It is so dark that she does not see the figure who had deftly stepped onto the path, until it is right before her, barring her from continuing. She rushes right into him and, shocked, takes and involuntary step backward, letting out a slight gasp.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she says, her voice breathless, for she has been walking quickly. The man seems nonplussed, and not at all disturbed by the accident, he merely regards her for at time and then says pleasantly in a smooth and even voice, “Where are you going, Child?”
Camille, her senses already heightened and alert as she travels through the dark night, does some quick thinking. She thought for a moment that this could be Carlos, except he couldn’t speak such eloquent French. Moreover, this man seemed completely unlike how Gizelle described Carlos, he seemed stocky and meaty as opposed to thin and lithe. His voice is smooth and even and reveals nothing, and it is so dark that she cannot see his face. She does not wish to pass judgement quickly based on so little information, even though the mere fact that he is in the woods at this hour seems somewhat suspicious, and immediately puts her on her guard.
Still, the fact of the matter is that if she doesn’t cooperate with him, she could be in very real danger. She feels that it is probably safest to play along for now, and just try to get away from him as soon as she can.
“I’m going to my grandmother’s house,” she says, making her voice deliberately childish. The less he suspected that might be lying, the better. “She is very sick, and my mother sent me to bring her a basket of wine and bread.” Here she motions to the basket she carries, that umm…was magically conjured out of thin air because I didn’t mention it before. It does indeed contain these things, for Carlos will surely be hungry, having nothing to eat and being out of the village.
Camille kicks her feet, and pours anxiety into her voice. “And I really should be going now, because grandmother is very ill, and I must get to her by daybreak, or all may be lost.”
The man continues to contemplate her. Even though her body is concealed he can see that she is thin, lithe; her chest swells slightly beneath her cloak. Not quite a child then, but caught between He cannot see her face, as it is hooded, but he even so, he feels the beginnings of desire stir within him. Camille cannot anticipate him, she steals glances at him, judging is strength, and it is impossible to tell because it could be the thickness of his garments, or just bulk. She still can’t find anything out about him then, but she grows nervous. She cannot see the way his gaze lingers on her, she is too distracted to think of that, and too busy trying to come up with a plan on how to get rid of him.
“It is dangerous for a girl to be in the woods alone,” he finally says conversationally, his voice revealing nothing. “Surely your mother told you of the animals that walk wild in the woods at night.”
“I know of the bears,” Camille replies, “but I know too that they slumber in the dark.”
“Ah, but what of the great cats that hunt only when the moon is high,” he asks. “What of the hawks and vultures who sleep by day and turn feral at night? What of the poisonous snakes who slide in silence through the grass toward unsuspecting victims? What of the wolves in the woods, my dear,” he adds softly, his voice a low growl.
Camille begins to grow uneasy, but whether she fears the speaker himself, or what he speaks of what he speaks of, she cannot say. “I do appreciate your warning, good Sir, but I shall not be long in these woods, before I reach my destination. I have little to fear.”
“Nonetheless,” he says, his voice coming through with a surprising earnestness, it simply would not be chivalrous of me to let a young girl walk through the words unescorted at this time of night. Please,” he adds, “let me accompany you to your destination.” Camille is surprised at the genuine concern that floods his voice, and her cheeks flush of their own accord.
“Thank you,” she says, lowering her defenses somewhat, “but I have no need of assistance.”
“I am asking for my sake, as well as yours,” he says. He takes a step toward Camille, and lightly brushes her elbow with his one of his gloved hands. This close, he smells of sandelwood mixed with some inexplicable flower scent. He smells of the wind and the world.
“I have been traveling long, and I would welcome the company. Please, let me walk you to the edge of the woods at least,” he says. “I will see you safely through, and that will alleviate my conscience. Then I will leave you if you so desire it.”
“I…” Camille hesitates. She does not relish walking through the woods alone at this time of night, and she must admit that the idea of having someone to talk to appeals to her. Despite her bravado, she does realize that the woods carry many perils, and she supposes that it makes more sense to have one possible danger at her side, as opposed to many in the dark that she cannot see and isn’t even aware exist. Besides, in the context of all of the newness of the night, it seems almost fated that something like this will happen.
“I will let you walk with me,” Camille says, softly, “until the edge if the woods.”
“Thank you,” the stranger breathes a sigh of relief, falling into step beside her and placing a hand on her back to guide her deeper into the woods.