Chestnut, the largest of the horses, stamps her hoof impatiently, her mane braided with red ribbons. Dapple, slender and watchful, circles the table, glancing from the wolf to a bowl of glistening apples. Blaze, whose white blaze cuts sharply down his face, lifts the wolf’s chin with a gentle nudge. Their quarry, the Wolf, can barely keep her eyes open, her ribs rising and falling with ragged breaths. "You thought you could outrun us forever, didn't you?" "Please," the Wolf whispers, voice thin as smoke, "I'm so tired. Let me rest."

Dapple carefully shaves the Wolf’s mottled fur, gathering it in a basket by the hearth. Blaze rolls out a thick, golden crust, while Chestnut slices apples, their scent mingling with the sharp tang of wolf and sugar. "No more running, no more tricks," Chestnut murmurs, voice hard but not unkind. "She'll make a fine pie, won't she?" Dapple says, glancing at the wolf, who lies silent, her fate sealed by fatigue.

Blaze gently lifts the Wolf and settles her into the crust-lined pan, arranging her limbs comfortably as if tucking her into bed. Chestnut places a shiny green apple between her jaws, while Dapple fans cinnamon-sugar apple slices around her, each one perfectly arranged. "A touch more cinnamon, I think," Dapple says, sprinkling fragrant spice with a flourish. "She looks peaceful now," Blaze observes softly.

Chestnut stands watch at the oven door, her reflection trembling in the glass. Dapple and Blaze set the table with their finest blue china, their eyes never leaving the glowing oven. "Do you remember why we chased her?" Chestnut asks quietly, her voice barely louder than the ticking of the clock. "She stole from us, again and again. But now, everything will be different," Blaze replies, though his words sound more like a question.

Dapple slices into the crust, revealing the filling inside, and serves generous helpings onto each plate. Chestnut takes the first bite, her eyes closing in satisfaction as the flavors meld on her tongue. Blaze and Dapple eat in silence, the only sounds the clink of forks and the sigh of the cooling oven. "It's sweeter than I expected," Dapple says, a strange sadness flickering in her gaze. "Sometimes the chase is more important than the catch," Chestnut murmurs, staring into her empty plate.

Blaze pushes back from the table, his eyes distant. The basket of shaved wolf fur sits forgotten by the hearth, and outside, the world is silent. The three horses sit together in the hush, their hunger sated but their hearts unsettled, the memory of the chase echoing in the empty kitchen. "What now?" Blaze asks, but no one answers. The question lingers, like the scent of cinnamon, long after the meal is done.