Chicken Little glances anxiously at the others, his beak trembling. Henny Penny stands close by, feathers ruffled but eyes unusually steady. Ducky Lucky, Goosey Loosey, and Turkey Lurkey huddle together, casting wary glances at Foxy Loxy, whose tail flicks with deceptive casualness. "Step right in, dear friends, a storm’s a-brewin’ and my cave is cozy as can be." "Are you sure it’s safe?" "Safe as eggs in a basket, I promise."

A gust of wind snuffs the last sliver of daylight. The animals’ eyes widen as Foxy Loxy slinks behind, his smile sharpening in the gloom. Suddenly, the soundscape shifts: claws scrape stone, feathers ruffle, and a cacophony of startled squawks erupts. The camera lingers on trembling shadows thrown high against the cave wall, and the flicker of a bushy tail darting through the chaos.

A low growl is cut off mid-snarl. The ruckus builds to a fever pitch, then abruptly drops into a heavy, breathless silence. Somewhere, a pebble clatters.

Goosey Loosey straightens, blinking in disbelief. Turkey Lurkey dusts himself off, looking around for the missing fox. In the center, Henny Penny sits serenely, preening her feathers with exaggerated poise. She pats her noticeably round belly, a sly glint in her eye. From her beak protrudes a tuft of orange fur, unmistakably a fox’s tail. "Did… did Henny Penny just eat Foxy Loxy?" "One mustn’t underestimate a hen with an appetite for justice." "Well, I suppose the moral is… don’t mess with poultry in a panic?"

Henny Penny[/@ch_2], who now radiates a calm authority. The cave’s darkness seems a little less menacing, illuminated by the animals’ collective relief.] "I never thought I’d see the day. Henny, you were magnificent!" "Thank you, Goosey. Sometimes a hen’s got to take matters—and foxes—into her own beak." "Remind me never to get between you and your supper." "Just keep the seeds coming and you’ll be fine." "Does this mean… it’s safe to go home now?"

The others follow, casting glances of awe and admiration at their champion. As the group vanishes into the underbrush, a last, stray fox whisker flutters to the ground. A faint chuckle escapes Henny Penny, her silhouette bold beneath the moon. "Next time someone cries ‘The sky is falling,’ I’ll handle it personally."