The wolf, with matted gray fur and sharp yellow eyes, circles the pot, licking his lips. Tied up on a patch of moss is a clever rabbit, her nose twitching as she surveys her surroundings. "Wait! Before you eat me, I know a secret to making the most delicious stew you've ever tasted," she calls out, her voice trembling but determined.

"A secret, you say? What could a scrawny rabbit possibly know about fine dining?" The rabbit quickly replies, "I have a magic stone hidden in my fur. If you let me go, I’ll show you how to make a soup fit for a king." The wolf, intrigued by the promise of magic, unties her, his claws tapping impatiently against the iron pot.

The rabbit drops the stone with a flourish, and the wolf leans in, sniffing the steam. "That’s it? Just a stone?" he grumbles, disappointment clouding his features. "Good soup needs seasoning," the rabbit insists, nodding toward a pouch of herbs and spices near the fire.

"Now, a real stone soup needs vegetables," the rabbit chirps, eyes glinting with cunning. Grumbling, the wolf fetches wild carrots, onions, and turnips from his collection, chopping them with his claws and dropping them into the bubbling brew. The rabbit stirs, her eyes darting between the wolf and the pot.

"Enough already! What more could this soup possibly need?" The rabbit turns, a sly smile spreading across her face. "Just one last ingredient to make it perfect," she says sweetly.

The wolf thrashes and howls beneath the lid, but the rabbit grits her teeth, her paws pressed firmly down. The struggle grows weaker and weaker until, at last, silence settles over the camp. Only the gentle bubbling of the stew and the whisper of wind through the trees remain.

She inhales the savory aroma, her eyes bright with satisfaction. The rabbit ladles herself a hearty bowl of stone soup with wolf, savoring the rich flavors as she dines contentedly beneath the stars, her cleverness having saved her life—and filled her belly.