A boar stands before her oven, tusked snout twitching as she watches the firelight dance over the glass. Behind the oven’s door, a transformation is underway — the silhouette within shifts, suggesting not only the shape of a wolf but something more primal, more elemental, turning from living creature to sustenance.
"Patience," she murmurs to herself, licking her lips. "Good things come to those who wait."
The air thickens with savory promise as the wolf’s struggle quiets. The magic of the woodland oven works silently, smoke curling upward, infusing the meat with forest flavors. In the hush, time seems to slow, the only sound the gentle hiss and pop from within.
The boar dons thick mitts, her eyes bright with hunger and satisfaction. She lifts the roast, now perfectly browned and glistening, and transfers it with care to the waiting platter. Steam rises as she sets it down, the wolf’s former shape now just a memory rendered in tender flesh.
"A meal fit for a queen," she whispers, admiring her prize.
She marvels at the tenderness, savoring the way the meat yields. The texture is exquisite — succulent, with ribbons of fat running through, proof of the wolf’s well-fed, wild life. Her anticipation grows as she inspects each cut, delighted by the ease with which the meat separates.
She takes her first bite, closing her eyes as the flavors unfold — earthy, robust, and unexpectedly delicate. The roast is everything she hoped for: richly marbled, the fat melting on her tongue, the meat both wild and refined. Each mouthful is a celebration, a victory savored in the solitude of her woodland home.
The boar leans back, content and sleepy, brushing a stray crumb from her tusk. She gazes at the remnants of her meal, a satisfied smile curling her lips. The magic of the woodland oven lingers in the air — and in the memory of a wolf, now transformed into the most perfect of roasts.
