Red Riding
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EnglishAccents
North American (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
read, wondered if the moon was on fire as she caught a glimpse of it in the midnight horizon. It loomed like a blazing crimson titan, high above the towering tree tops of the majestic forest. As impossible as it seemed, she believed that lunar spirits were calling out to her. She could hear their distant voices beckoning her further down the dark, dark path she'd been riding on since earlier that afternoon. Show me the way! Read shouted at the moon. With every mile, she traveled further from the city and the deeper into the woods, she ventured. Ah, feeling of hope in her heart grew ever stronger. She felt as if she was waking from a mundane dream. She'd been trapped in her entire life. There was no rational reason to believe the direction she was traveling with lied to her grandmother's house. In her heart. She knew it would. The giant trees and overgrown brush caused the path to become dangerously narrow. The ground was paved with jagged rocks, unexpected dips and slippery puddles. Read had to fight tooth and nail to keep the wheels of her little motorcycle upright. She knew that slowing down would be the smart thing to Dio. One false move could be disastrous, and there was little chance of rescue so far away from the safety of civilization. Ignoring the sensible notions, she squeezed down harder on the throttle. Playing it safe won't get me to where I'm going tonight, she said. Read watched with a mix of nervousness and irritation as the writer rolled to a stop nearby, he turned off his engine and shoved down the kickstand with his boot. She tried to get a look at his face as he pulled off his helmet and used his black shirt to wipe the mess of Berries away from his visor. But he had an innate ability to keep his identity concealed in the shadows. Would you just drop the mysterious man routine already read shouted. The writers slammed down his helmet on the seat of his motorcycle. He stood looking at the ground for a tense moment, likely trying to calm himself as he started over toward Redd. He cracked his neck from one side to the other, read, stood up straight and did her best to look fearless. What? His face finally came into the light. She was surprised to find he was just about the same age as her home. High Read felt a bit lightheaded as she fought the urge to swoon. The writers, long brown hair waved in the wind over his handsome face. A scar ran from below his left eye all the way down the length of his cheek, giving him a rough and tough edge. His eyes appeared to be copper colored, though it was hard to tell for sure in the pale moonlight. You OK there, little red. The writer had a deep, scratchy tone. Read gave him a suspicious glare. How do you know my name? The writer cracked a grand and pointed to her long red hair. I didn't until you just told me. Read. Grabbed a lock of her hair. Oh, you called me red because she stopped herself short. Both annoyed and embarrassed. He took a step closer. So tell me a little red where you had it so late in the night. Not your business, Wolf boy. The writer gave red and odd. Look, why do you keep calling me that? Maybe because of the way you were howling earlier. Wolf boy, Did it frighten you? Little red board Now