Mama Goat stands at the counter, her nimble hooves slicing fragrant rosemary with precise care. Across from her, Third Pig kneads dough with infectious enthusiasm, cheeks pink from laughter and exertion. Their eyes meet over a bowl of sugar, sharing a silent joke before returning to their culinary tasks.
"If your dough is as light as your jokes, these wolf-shaped rolls might just float right out the window,"
"Light dough is my specialty, but I must credit my inspiration—the great Mama Goat, queen of the kitchen,"
"Flattery will get you nowhere, but maybe an extra sprinkle of cinnamon,"
Their laughter mingles with the clinking of bowls and the soft, rhythmic thump of dough on wood.
Third Pig holds up a particularly lopsided wolf, grinning mischievously.
"This one’s for old Graytail—may he finally meet his match in pastry,"
"He’ll be much sweeter as a dessert than he ever was as a neighbor,"
"What would you call a wolf with a sugar dusting? A howlin' confection!"
"Or a threat only to waistlines,"
They exchange playful glances, savoring the absurdity of their creations. The kitchen feels like a world apart, safe and brimming with possibility.
Mama Goat carefully transfers the golden pastries to a plate, her movements tender.
"Not bad for a pair who used to run at the first whiff of a wolf,"
"Now we bake them into memory, and serve them with jam,"
Their hands brush as they arrange the pastries, a spark of something unsaid flickering between them. Laughter softens to an affectionate hush.
Mama Goat[/@ch_1] and Third Pig sit side by side on a patchwork rug, sharing warm pastries and mugs of spiced cider.]
Third Pig grows quiet, gazing into the flames.
"I still dream about the night the wolves came. Sometimes I wake up tasting dust, heart pounding,"
"Me too. I used to think fear made me small, but maybe it just made me careful. And grateful for kitchens like this,"
"And for company that turns old fears into new stories,"
The fire pops, filling the silence. Their shoulders brush, and Mama Goat lets out a small, heartfelt sigh.
"We’ve come a long way from hiding behind locked doors,"
"Now we open them—for each other,"
They share a lingering look, eyes shining with mutual admiration and something deeper. Their laughter returns, quieter now, woven with trust as they lean into the warmth of the fire and one another.
