'The girl who cried wolf' by Christina Tudor

There'd been rumors of wolves circling the outskirts of the village. There'd been rumors that the wolves played tricks on little girls who risked walking alone in the woods, their feet breaking branches under the glow of the full moon. The wolves posed as grandmothers, shape shifted into soft creatures that have big eyes but do not bare teeth. All the little girls in the village were taught how to keep themselves safe. After sundown, they were kept home under the watchful eye of their mothers. The village boys sharpened sticks with knifes and gave them to their sisters to keep tucked behind their ears. The youngest girls, not yet five, learned the meaning of big words like vigilance. Even the youngest girls carried weapons, their bodies tense even in sleep like prey in the wilderness. 

Then there came a day when a girl did as she was told. The girl cried wolf. All her friends and family and neighbors gathered around in broad daylight while she pointed at the wolf with her index finger and thumb, her feet set and her head high. The villagers looked at the girl and then at the wolf, confused. Because to them, he was a villager just like them, wearing fancy clothes and leather boots up to his knees. Silly girl, the village leaders admonished. That's no wolf. He's one of us.

The villagers ignored her protests. Liar, they chanted. Her mother moved to usher her back inside the house. Her brother wanted to know why she wasn't carrying around a knife tucked inside her boot. Behind the leering crowd, the wolf flashed his teeth. The girl who cried wolf remembered what she was taught: when you meet a wolf in the woods you always look it in the eye.