The Boar, a massive creature with bristling grey fur and nimble hooves, sharpens an ancient blade with deliberate strokes. Upon the table, the limp form of The Wolf lies, his fur still matted with the dust of the wild. A hush falls, broken only by the scrape of metal on stone.
"Tonight, the forest will feast as it never has before," The Boar murmurs, his gaze unwavering as he surveys his work.
With steady hands, The Boar begins to shave away The Wolf's thick pelt, revealing pale skin beneath. The blade glides with a practiced grace, each pass leaving behind smoothness where wildness once reigned. The silence is profound, save for the gentle rasp of hair falling to the floor and the occasional snort of concentration.
"Stripped of your coat, you begin to look more like a meal than a menace," he observes quietly, a trace of reverence in his tone.
The Boar dips a wide wooden brush into a bowl of golden honey glaze, lifting it so the viscous liquid drips in slow, sticky threads. With careful strokes, he paints The Wolf's exposed skin, the glaze catching the firelight and turning his body into a glistening spectacle. The aroma of sweet honey melds with the rustic air, promising an unforgettable feast.
"Every beast is worthy of a proper send-off," The Boar intones, his actions ritualistic.
With a grunt of effort, The Boar slides the prepared Wolf onto a roasting spit, securing him with thick cords. The spit turns slowly, the honey glaze sizzling and caramelizing as firelight flickers over the scene. Outside, the forest hushes, as if the creatures beyond the window sense the solemnity of the moment.
"Let patience be our seasoning tonight," he rumbles, eyes reflecting both the fire and his anticipation.
The Wolf[/@ch_2] rests on a platter, surrounded by sprigs of rosemary and wild mushrooms.]
The Boar selects a gleaming carving knife and slices into The Wolf's thigh, revealing tender meat beneath the lacquered glaze. Juices run, pooling golden on the serving board, as the scent of roasted honey fills the room. He lifts a slice, his tusked snout hovering above it as he inhales deeply.
"To the victor, the spoils," The Boar declares, savoring the first bite as the warmth of the meal spreads through him.
The Boar reclines at the table, his plate nearly clean, eyes closed in satisfaction. Outside, the wind stirs the leaves, carrying the scent of honey and herbs into the night. The forest, ever watchful, seems to acknowledge the balance restored—one story ending, another waiting to begin.
