A clever pig tiptoed quietly, her snout twitching as she eyed a slumbering wolf beneath the tangled roots of an ancient oak. The wolf’s gray fur blended into the moss, unaware of the pink figure sneaking up beside him. In one swift, practiced motion, the pig tossed a net over the wolf, binding him tightly. The forest seemed to hush, as if nature itself held its breath at this unexpected turn.

The pig dragged the startled wolf inside, securing him to a chair. With a gleam in her eye, she picked up a gleaming razor and began to shave the wolf’s fur, tufts falling like gray snow onto the floor. The wolf trembled, his pride as wounded as his appearance, while the pig hummed a cheerful tune. The wolf, now bare-skinned and shivering, stared in disbelief at his reflection in a cracked mirror.

The pig stretched dough with practiced hands, rolling it smooth and thin. She eyed the wolf thoughtfully, measuring him up for her culinary plans. "You always thought you’d eat me, didn’t you? But today, the tables have turned," she teased, wrapping the dough around the wolf until only his head and feet poked out. The wolf whimpered, his eyes wide with dread and confusion.

The pig slid the dough-wrapped wolf onto a large tray, her hooves working with precision. She pushed the tray into the oven, the door closing with a definitive clang. As the minutes ticked by, the kitchen filled with the rich, yeasty aroma of baking, mingled with something wild and savory. The wolf squirmed, his nose twitching as the heat wrapped around him, the dough beginning to crisp and brown.

The pig heaved the tray from the oven, admiring her creation—wolf in a blanket, perfectly browned, his head and paws peeking out. She arranged the platter with sprigs of rosemary and a side of spicy mustard. Settling into her chair, she sharpened her knife, her eyes gleaming with triumph. "Please, have mercy," pleaded the wolf, but the pig only smiled, savoring the role reversal.

The pig dabbed her snout with a napkin, a look of deep contentment on her face. The forest outside was silent, the moon rising above the treetops, casting a silvery glow through the window. She gazed at the empty platter, her victory complete, and whispered into the quiet night, "No one ever expects the pig to win," before closing her eyes in peace.