BOAR stands at the battered counter, a thick apron tied around his bristled frame. He arranges an array of sharp knives with obsessive care, glancing now and then at the limp form of WOLF sprawled beside a basket of root vegetables. "You know, they say the secret to a truly tender dish is patience. And a little bit of trust," WOLF’s eyelids flutter—a groggy, half-conscious response—and he emits a low, resigned grunt.

Holding WOLF’s muzzle steady, BOAR slides the razor across his quarry’s neck, each movement precise. The silence is thick, broken only by the rasp of steel on hair and the occasional snap of twigs from the forest outside. "You do realize this is wildly unethical, right? Even by woodland standards," "Unethical? Please. Think of it as… culinary innovation. Besides, you’re hardly innocent yourself," "Is this the part where you wax poetic about the food chain? Because I’m not in the mood for metaphors,"

BOAR scoops flour with ritualistic intent, patting it over WOLF’s body in slow, circular motions. The tension is palpable; the only sound is the soft hiss of flour against skin. "You know, well-seasoned meat is a sign of respect," BOAR remarks, his lips curling into a satisfied grin. "If you respected me any more, I’d be garnished with rosemary," "Don’t tempt me. I have thyme, too," he retorts, dark humor flickering in his eyes.

A bead of sweat trickles down BOAR’s snout as he gently lowers WOLF into the skillet. The first contact unleashes a cacophony of sizzles and pops, filling the room with the scent of burning flour and fur. "You know, I always thought my end would be more… dignified. Maybe a hunter, a storm, not a boar with a chef’s complex," "It’s all about perspective, my friend. Tonight, you’re the star ingredient. That’s dignity enough,"

The sounds intensify—the sizzle now a roar, mingled with BOAR’s heavy breathing and WOLF’s fading groans. BOAR flips WOLF with skilled precision, inspecting the golden crust forming on his quarry’s flank. "If you’re going to eat me, at least don’t overcook. I’m gamey enough as is," "Trust me. I never waste good meat. Especially when it talks back," BOAR replies, voice thick with glee.

BOAR closes his eyes, savoring the first bite. The air is silent but for the crackling fire and his satisfied chewing—a moment of dark triumph. "Predators eat with conviction. Prey… with perspective," he muses, setting down his fork as the scene fades into deep, woodland silence.