The cunning ram tiptoes across uneven floorboards, hooves barely making a sound as he approaches his quarry. Shadows flicker over his curved horns and gleaming eyes, which dart from the wolf’s twitching ears to the sharpened straight razor clutched in his mouth. He pauses, measuring the rhythm of her breath, before slipping the blade neatly into his hoof and setting to work.
The cunning ram hums a tune under his breath, savoring the suspense. His lips curl into a twisted smile as he collects the shorn fur into a basket, occasionally glancing at the wolf’s nose to ensure she remains deep in sleep. Every scrape of the razor amplifies the tension, the room growing colder and quieter with each passing moment.
With theatrical flair, the cunning ram positions the wolf so her snout sticks out above the edge, exposed to the thick aroma of simmering herbs and roasting roots. He tucks sliced onions and wild mushrooms around her flanks, chuckling darkly as he dots her nose with a sprig of thyme. The scene teeters on the edge of horror and absurdity, the wolf’s vulnerability heightened by the ram’s giddy sense of mischief.
The cunning ram leans close, whispering with wicked relish, "Sleep well, darling. Dream of carrots and thyme." He paces the kitchen, watching the oven, relishing every second as the scent grows richer. The wolf stirs, nose twitching, but remains trapped in slumber, surrounded by the grotesque comfort of his culinary masterpiece.
The cunning ram stands above her, cleaver in hoof, grinning from ear to ear. "Rise and shine! You’ve never smelled so delicious." The wolf thrashes weakly, pie crust crumbling around her, but the ram only laughs, savoring the chaos and terror that swirl through the room.
The cunning ram wipes his mouth, eyes twinkling with dark humor. "Who knew revenge could taste so sweet?" The kitchen fades into silence, the air thick with the absurdity and tension of the night’s twisted ritual, as the ram licks his hooves and grins at the emptied pie tin.
