Red Riding Hog scans the trail, her snout twitching as she listens for trouble. Suddenly, from behind an ancient oak, a snarling figure leaps—the Wolf, teeth bared and eyes hungry. "Where do you think you're going, piglet?" "Just to Granny's. But I've got something special for you."

Red Riding Hog swings her basket with surprising strength, catching the Wolf square on the jaw. He collapses, limbs sprawling, unconscious among the ferns. "Hunting season came early," she mutters, tying up the wolf with a sturdy rope she pulls from her cloak. With a grunt, she hoists him over her shoulder, heading deeper into the woods.

Granny Pig watches from the doorway, knitting needles paused in mid-air, eyes wide behind her spectacles. "Red, is that… the wolf?" "Yes, Granny. He won’t bother anyone again," replies Red Riding Hog, dropping her cargo onto the kitchen table.

"Let’s get to work, Granny," whispers Red, as she begins to shave the wolf’s coarse fur, revealing the lean meat beneath. "I always said you were clever, Red. Now, let’s make him into something worthy of our supper," Together, they sprinkle spices, knead dough, and craft a savory pie in the warmth of the cheerful kitchen.

"You planned this all along, didn’t you?" Granny chuckles, pride shining in her eyes. "The basket was just spices, Granny. I was hunting wolves today," Red smiles, taking another bite. The fire crackles, casting dancing shadows, as the two celebrate their triumph over the wild.

"No wolf will dare come near us again," Granny says softly. "Not while I’m on the trail," Red replies, her eyes shining with resolve. As the night deepens, the story of Red Riding Hog becomes legend, whispered through the woods for years to come.