Little Red Riding Hood lived at the edge of a green village. She wore a bright red cloak with a hood and carried a small wicker basket of bread and butter. One sunny morning, she set off down the lane toward her grandmother’s cottage.

At the garden gate, her mother fastened Red’s cloak. She kissed Red on the forehead and pressed the basket into her hands, warning, “Walk straight to Grandma’s house. Don’t stray into the woods.” Red promised and skipped away, a ribbon trailing in the breeze.

In the dark, tall trees a gray wolf watched from behind a trunk. He stepped onto Red’s path, greeting her with a smooth voice and asking where she was going.

Red, innocent and polite, told the wolf all about her grandmother’s cottage, the basket of bread and butter, and the narrow path. The wolf smiled, and his eyes glittered like wet stones.

“Why not pick some flowers for your grandmother?” the wolf suggested, pointing to a bright clearing. While Red bent to gather blooms, the wolf slipped off the main road and ran a faster path to the cottage. Sunlight spilled through the trees as Red filled her basket, unaware the wolf moved with a secret plan.

At the cottage the wolf knocked in a querulous voice. When Grandma opened the door, he pushed her into a corner, locked her in the wardrobe, and slipped into her bed, pulling the quilt up to his chin. He put on her cap and glasses and waited, breathing softly beneath the dim lamp.

Red arrived, humming, and pushed open the cottage door. The room was quiet and smelled faintly of lavender. She set the basket down and approached the bed. “Grandmother, what big eyes you have,” she said.

The wolf replied in a gruff tone, “The better to see you with!” Red noticed more odd things—the big nose, the heavy voice—and her smile faltered.

Just then, a woodcutter walking home heard the odd sounds and peered in through the window. Seeing the wolf in Grandma’s bed, he burst into the room with his axe. With careful hands he opened the wardrobe, freed Grandmother, and then dealt with the wolf so there would be no more danger. Red and her grandmother clung to each other and laughed with relief.

Safe again, Red unpacked the basket: warm bread and butter, and the flowers she’d picked. Grandma hugged her and said, “Remember the woods have listening shadows—always follow the straight path.” Red nodded, the red cloak bright in the late sun. Together they walked to the window and watched the wood, grateful for the quiet and the lesson learned.