Wolf thrashes wildly, claws scraping against the blistering metal tray, eyes wide with terror as the temperature rises. The aroma of rosemary and garlic floods his senses, mingling with the sizzling of his own fur. He sniffs, coughing, and tries to wedge his paw under the oven door. "This is a nightmare! I knew the goat was a little twisted, but this? Who bakes a wolf? I should've stuck to chasing rabbits..." His frantic attempts to escape—a desperate push, a futile kick—only intensify the heat. With every second, his panic grows, and sweat drips down his snout, pooling on the tray beneath him.

Wolf[/@ch_1]'s face, twisted in horror. The oven light flickers, illuminating his trembling jaw and twitching whiskers. The kitchen outside is eerily silent, save for the rhythmic ticking of a wall clock.] Wolf claws at the oven walls, howling in frustration as his escape efforts fail. His breath fogs the glass, and his eyes dart around for any sign of hope. He stomps, grunts, and whimpers—his mind racing through every trick he knows. "Maybe if I play dead, the goat’ll let me out. Or—no, wait—if I look extra crispy, maybe he’ll lose his appetite. Ugh, who am I kidding? I’m about to be the main course at my own funeral." He slumps against the back of the oven, paws limp, as the heat intensifies and the savory aroma grows stronger.

Wolf[/@ch_1]. Outside, the kitchen’s shadows lengthen, giving the scene a surreal, fable-like quality.] Wolf ceases his struggle, gazing at his reflection in the oven’s glass. He sighs, his expression shifting from terror to resignation. The sizzling sounds become a strange lullaby, almost soothing. "Funny, isn’t it? One minute you’re the terror of the meadow, the next you’re marinating in your own regrets. All those years chasing goats, never once stopping to ask about their recipes. Maybe life’s just a series of ovens—we jump in, we sweat, we sizzle, and eventually, we accept the heat." He closes his eyes, breathing in the aromatic air, letting the warmth envelop him.

Wolf[/@ch_1]’s serene face, fur damp, eyes soft. The oven’s hum is hypnotic, punctuated by the delicate crackling of herbs.] Wolf smiles faintly, his mind drifting to philosophical thoughts. He imagines the goat preparing a feast, setting the table with pride and joy. "If my fate is to be dinner, let it be a good one. May my flavor surprise the goat—maybe he’ll tell his friends, maybe he’ll remember me fondly. There are worse ways to go than bringing happiness to another creature, even if it’s the one who locked you up." He chuckles quietly, the sound muffled by the oven walls.

Wolf[/@ch_1]’s peaceful posture. The kitchen is filled with the rich, inviting aroma of a feast in progress.] Wolf lifts a paw and waves gently toward the oven door, as if offering a blessing. His expression is tranquil, almost noble, as he faces his end with dignity. The heat is now comforting, the sizzling a gentle chorus. "Bon appétit, Goat. May your table be merry and your heart full. Next time, maybe try baking a rabbit—they’re much easier to season." He closes his eyes, a final smile lingering, as the scene fades to black.

Wolf’s journey from terror to acceptance echoes in the stillness, his sacrifice now a quiet legend in the goat's home. The aroma persists, mingling with the memory of his final gesture. The fable ends not with tragedy, but with a strange, dignified grace.