The world swims as I blink groggily, my limbs refusing to respond. I shiver, feeling the bite of cold metal beneath me, the absence of my familiar coat intensifying the discomfort. The scents—sweet, cloying—seem wrong, unnatural in the gloom. My eyes struggle to focus, tracing the lines of my body to where my arms and legs are tied to something hard and unforgiving.

I catch sight of the sticky substance smeared across my legs and chest, its aroma overpowering, making my stomach churn. The brush moves with gentle, practiced strokes, wielded by a hefty boar whose small eyes are fixed on her work rather than on me. She hums a tuneless melody, lost in her own world, and for a moment, I am invisible to her. Panic claws up my throat as I realize the grill beneath me, the ties that hold me fast.

I twist and pull, desperation driving me as I attempt to free myself. The metal bites into my wrists and ankles, unyielding. My breath comes in short, ragged bursts, almost drowned by the boar’s humming. The boar barely glances up, her focus unwavering, as if the struggle beneath her hands is nothing more than an inconvenience.

She finally speaks, her voice calm and almost affectionate. "You wolves always think you're the hunters. But tonight, it's my turn. Just relax and let the flavors soak in. Mango and honey suit you, I think." Her words slice through the haze of panic, chilling me more than the cold metal ever could.

I scream—wordless, wild—but my voice is swallowed by the hiss of fire and the boar’s steady tune. Every muscle aches with the futile effort to escape, yet the bonds hold firm, and the heat grows ever more intense. The aroma of roasting flesh mixes with mango and honey, and I realize, with sickening clarity, that I am utterly helpless.

The panic ebbs, replaced by the numbness of resignation. I stare up at the cracked ceiling, my senses overwhelmed by pain, heat, and sweetened smoke. The world narrows to the sizzling of the grill and the boar’s contented humming. In this final moment, I am no longer the hunter, nor the wolf—only a meal, prepared with care and patience.