Three deer—Elder Hartley, with his antlers wide and regal, Willow, delicate and keen-eyed, and Sprig, the youngest, whose spots have just faded—sit around the table. The side dishes, forest mushrooms, glazed carrots, and sweet berries, glisten invitingly, but the centerpiece commands all attention: a golden roast wolf, still steaming, its scent mingling with the autumn night. The deer recline comfortably on moss-padded benches, their hooves tapping lightly as they converse.
"Pass the wild garlic, Elder Hartley! The wolf is best with a hint of spice,"
Elder Hartley obliges, his eyes twinkling. Sprig piles his plate high, grinning at the bounty before them.
"Hard to believe we used to fear them," he jokes, earning a round of laughter from the others.
The deer eat contentedly, savoring each bite, untroubled by the unusual nature of their main course.
Ash[/@ch_4] and Bramble, peer through the frost-laced window of an old hunting shack, jaws agape in disbelief.]
Ash, his fur bristling, nudges Bramble, who can barely contain a whimper. Their eyes are wide with horror as they watch the deer carve and serve the roast wolf.
"We have to warn the others—this is madness!"
Glancing at each other, they slink away from the window, paws silent on the crisp leaves, urgency in every movement.
A metallic snap echoes beneath the trees as each wolf is jerked off balance. Bells, cunningly hung from the traps, jingle sharply with each frantic movement. The wolves thrash and yelp, but the more they struggle, the louder the bells ring, sending a signal through the silent woods.
"No! The bells—they’ve trapped us!" Desperation colors their voices, but the snares hold fast.
"It seems our next guests have arrived,"
"The forest provides, as always,"
The deer raise their cups in a silent toast, eyes glinting with satisfaction. The feast continues, laughter mingling with the echo of bells, as the night air grows colder and the woodland shadows deepen.
