A plump, grey-furred figure—the Wolf—stirs, eyelids fluttering open as warmth radiates up his back. He blinks, expecting the comfort of his bedroll, but instead finds himself suspended above the fire, securely tied, his fur missing in wide patches, skin dusted with fragrant herbs. Panic ripples through his body, limbs straining against the ropes. The scent of rosemary and thyme is all too close.
the Wolf[/@ch_1]’s wide-eyed face, twitching nose, and trembling jowls. The sun rises, painting the clearing in soft gold, illuminating the spit and a well-packed rucksack resting nearby.]
"Wh-what—what is this? Who did this to me?!" His voice quivers, more whimper than growl. He jerks left, then right, rope fibers biting into his paws. Each movement sends the spit creaking ominously, but the knots hold. The Wolf’s confusion curdles into terror.
the Goat[/@ch_2], a wiry, unflappable figure with a sooty apron and sharp, intelligent eyes. He calmly stirs the fire with a stout stick, unfazed by the Wolf’s thrashing.]
"Morning, sunshine. Hope you slept well," he says, voice dry as kindling. The Goat tosses another log onto the flames, which leap higher, licking closer to the Wolf’s bare skin. He checks a battered cookbook, humming tunelessly.
The Wolf[/@ch_1]’s eyes dart about, desperate.]
"Wait, wait! You—you don’t want to do this. I’m—uh—I’m all gristle! Bad for the digestion! Let’s talk, let’s talk, please!"
"Oh, I’ve heard it all. Stringy, gamey, full of fleas. Funny, you didn’t say that when you prowled my fields last winter," the Goat replies, droll and unhurried. He sprinkles salt over the Wolf’s haunch with a flourish. "Besides, you’re nicely fattened. It’d be a shame to waste."
the Wolf[/@ch_1]. He twists violently, ropes groaning, spit wobbling, his voice rising to a frantic pitch.]
"Please! I’ll do anything. I’ll leave your flock alone, I swear it! I—I’ll be a vegetarian! Just let me down—this is all a terrible misunderstanding!"
"Oh, I believe you’d try. For a week, maybe. But some appetites never change," the Goat muses. He wipes his hooves, then begins basting the Wolf with a sprig of rosemary. "Besides, my cousin owes me five cheeses you wouldn’t last till noon." There’s a flicker of a smile—wry, almost fond.
the Wolf[/@ch_1]’s struggles weaken, replaced by a hollow resignation. Birds chatter overhead, oblivious to the drama below.]
"Goat, this isn’t fair. I never thought it’d end like this," he murmurs, voice barely above the crackle of the fire. The Goat shrugs, carefully testing the spit’s rotation.
"Life’s a funny old stew, my friend. Sometimes you’re the hunter, sometimes you’re the meal." The fire roars, and the Wolf closes his eyes as the smell of roasting meat fills the air, the full weight of his fate settling in with the morning sun.
