The Wolf prowls from the shadows, eyes gleaming with anticipation, claws flexing as he circles his trembling prey.
The Sheep stands frozen in the center, wool slightly askew, glancing all around with wide, naive eyes.
"At last, a plump morsel for my supper," the wolf growls, licking his chops as he advances.
"Oh, mighty Wolf, I have heard tales of your legendary cooking! Would you show me how you prepare your feasts before you eat me?"
"Ha! Flattery will get you nowhere, but perhaps you deserve to witness greatness," the wolf boasts, chest puffed, ego swelling in the twilight.
The Sheep bows exaggeratedly, making a show of reverence as she coils the ropes in her hooves.
"If you would, esteemed Wolf, allow me to bind you as tradition dictates—so the spirit of the feast may bless our meal,"
"A proper ceremony! Yes, yes, but be quick about it. I am hungry," the wolf replies, reclining regally atop the table.
The Sheep deftly loops the ropes around the wolf’s limbs, cinching tight as she mutters faux incantations. The wolf grins, oblivious, admiring his own reflection in a battered pan.
"Now, the tenderizing—your fur must be removed to honor your noble muscle,"
"Wait, why must you shave me? This feels... undignified," the wolf protests, nostrils flaring as tufts of fur fall to the floor.
"It’s all part of the legendary technique, master Wolf. Surely you know," the sheep replies smoothly, fighting a smirk as she sprinkles garlic and thyme over the wolf’s exposed hide.
"Enough! This is not what I—mmph!" The sheep, quick as a wink, pops a shiny red apple into the wolf's open mouth, silencing his objections.
The Sheep grunts, pushing the wolf onto a roasting tray, positioning him just so. She slides the tray into the oven, the door creaking shut with a triumphant clang.
"Thank you for your cooperation, oh legendary chef," she whispers, giggling as she sets a timer with a flourish. The forest outside remains eerily quiet, as if nature itself is watching in stunned silence.
The Sheep sits at the head of the table, napkin tucked under her chin, carving into the roast with relish.
"Ah, nothing like a well-prepared meal. Truly, the legend lives on," she says, savoring each bite. Her eyes twinkle with satisfaction, a sly smile curling her lips.
She glances at the wolf’s apple-stuffed head and raises her glass in a mocking toast, basking in her unlikely triumph.
The Sheep hums a jaunty tune, her intelligence undisputed beneath the quiet stars.
The forest, once a place of danger, now feels oddly safe. From somewhere in the darkness, a pair of eyes watches and learns: arrogance, it seems, is best served roasted.
