Wilbur the Pig trembles, tied up beside the fire, while Wolfgang the Wolf hums a tune, tossing pineapple rings into the flames. Shadows stretch across the sand, and the aroma of sizzling meat mingles with the salty breeze.
"Tonight, my little piggy guest, you’re the main course for my luau feast!"
"Please, let me go! My family will come for me," Wilbur squeals, voice quivering.
Mama Pig[/@ch_3], Hamlet, and Petal—emerge, faces set with determination. Moonlight glistens on their bristled coats, and they brandish kitchen utensils like weapons.]
With synchronized bravery, Mama Pig signals her children. They stampede into the clearing, upending a pot of pineapple glaze and sending it splattering across Wolfgang. Panicked, Wolfgang slips on a banana peel, landing snout-first in the sand.
"Get Wilbur! I’ll handle the wolf!" Hamlet hollers, as Petal gnaws through Wilbur’s ropes.
Wolfgang looks around, his bravado replaced with confusion and fear. The pigs sharpen knives and pass around a bowl of tropical marinade. Wolfgang tries to laugh it off, but his voice wavers.
"What’s this? Some kind of piggy payback prank?"
"Let’s just say the menu’s changed, Wolfgang," Mama Pig replies with a sly smile.
Wolfgang’s[/@ch_2] scruffy fur under the torchlight. The scent of coconut mixes with the earthy aroma of singed hair. The wolf’s eyes dart, embarrassed but unaware of what’s to come.]
Wolfgang squirms as the pigs shear him clean, tufts of gray fur fluttering away on the breeze. He scowls, cheeks burning with humiliation, convinced this is merely a cruel joke.
"You think making me look silly will make you feel better? You pigs are soft,"
"You’ll see we’re not so soft," Petal says, voice low.
Wolfgang[/@ch_2] onto the spit, securing him with vines. The fire roars higher, and the stars blink down through the palm fronds. The wolf’s panic grows as he’s basted with honey and citrus, the truth dawning on his face.]
Wolfgang thrashes, the cold shock of reality wiping away any vestige of arrogance. The pigs work methodically, brushing him with marinade and turning the spit.
"Wait! You can’t! I’m the host—this is my luau!"
"Correction: it’s our luau now, and you’re the main course," Hamlet grins.
Wilbur raises a coconut shell in a toast, surrounded by his family, their faces flushed with relief and triumph. Wolfgang—now the centerpiece—spins over the coals, his fate sealed by his own hubris.
"To family, freedom, and a feast fit for pigs," Mama Pig declares, as the luau continues long into the morning, the pigs reclaiming both their dignity and the night.
