Greta the Goat stands over the wolf, her hooves deftly rubbing compound butter across his exposed skin. The air is thick with the aroma of sage, thyme, and impending retribution. She pauses, voice sharp and unwavering.
"You thought you could steal my turkey and get away with it, didn't you? Well, tonight you'll be the centerpiece. Consider this a lesson in manners."
The wolf squirms, his eyes darting around in silent panic, unable to utter a word with the apple wedged firmly between his jaws.
Greta wipes her hooves on a towel, surveying the now empty space where the wolf had lain. She moves to the side counter, chopping carrots, parsnips, and potatoes with practiced ease. The oven hums in the background, a constant reminder of justice served hot.
"Let this be a new tradition. No one messes with Thanksgiving in this house," she mutters, dicing onions with a determined flick.
The goat’s nimble hooves work swiftly, seasoning the sides just right. She glances at the oven, where the wolf’s silhouette darkens through the glass. The anticipation builds, punctuated by the soft ticking of the kitchen clock and the occasional sizzle from the roasting pan.
Bella the Goat, tall and inquisitive, sniffs the air, her ears flicking.
"Is that… wolf? Honestly, I never thought I’d see the day. Smells delicious though!"
Greta grins, proud and a bit defiant, as the family gathers around the table, plates and cutlery ready.
Grandma Nanny, with her silver beard and gentle eyes, takes the first bite.
"Remarkable! A bold choice, Greta. Dare I say, better than turkey?"
Laughter ripples around the table, forks clinking as everyone digs in. The wolf’s fate is sealed with every satisfied chew and approving nod.
"Maybe next year we’ll skip the turkey altogether," Bella muses, tapping her plate.
Greta beams, feeling vindicated and triumphant, as the talk turns to making roasted wolf the new holiday tradition. Outside, the moon hangs low, casting a silvery glow over the farmhouse, marking the beginning of a bold new chapter for Thanksgiving.
