The pig and the wolf sit across from each other, their cheeks flushed and eyes bright with merriment. Empty mugs pile between them as candlelight dances on their faces. Outside, the moon is full and the night is thick with mist.
"Another round for us, my friend! Let the night never end,"
"Only if you promise not to snore when we get back to your place,"
The wolf sprawls across the bed, boots discarded, snoring with abandon. The pig tiptoes around the room, his gaze lingering on the sleeping form. The windows rattle gently as a breeze slips through the cracks.
"Rest easy, old friend. You won't feel a thing,"
The pig carefully shaves away the wolf’s thick fur, revealing pale skin underneath. He brushes the olive oil in long, deliberate strokes, then showers the wolf with a blend of rosemary, thyme, and salt. The wolf stirs, mumbling incoherently, but remains deeply asleep.
"A pinch of pepper for flavor, and a blanket of dough to keep you warm,"
Steam rises from a pot nearby as the pig admires his handiwork, checking for any gaps in the pastry. The wolf’s head rests peacefully atop the dough, untroubled by the transformation. The pig hums a tune, his anticipation growing with every fold.
"Now, into the oven you go—soon a feast fit for a king,"
The pig watches through the window, licking his lips as the delicious aroma intensifies. The wolf’s exposed face flushes with heat, a sheen of golden brown spreading across his cheeks. Time moves slowly, marked only by the crackle of fire and the ticking of a brass clock.
"Perfectly done—golden, crisp, and savory,"
The pig carves into the dish, savoring each bite with relish, his eyes shining with triumph. The night outside grows quiet, as if holding its breath. Satisfied and full, the pig leans back, a sly smile curling at the corners of his mouth.
"To good friends and good meals—may every night end so sweetly,"
