EXT. DEAD FOREST - FIRST LIGHT
Bare trunks, grey fog, a carpet of dead leaves. Far down the path, a small red shape: RED (13), walking alone.
At the end of the path, something waits in the fog. Four legs. Much too tall for a dog.
Red does not slow down. Under the cloak, her hand closes on the handle of a knife.
In a tangle of branches, two amber eyes open. They have followed her since the road.
THE WOLF
(low, pleased with itself)
You are a long way from home, little one.
It steps out of the fog. Twice her height. Its head blots out the sky.
Red looks up at it. Then, slowly, she smiles.
CUT TO BLACK.
































