A rabbit, fur matted and eyes wild with desperation, crouches beneath a bramble, every muscle tense. Hunger gnaws at his belly, hollow and sharp, as he scans the moonlit gloom for movement. In the distance, a wolf—massive, silver-furred, and arrogant—prowls, jaws stained with fresh blood, believing himself master of the night.
his[/@ch_1] paws, while the wolf’s heavy footfalls and brash snarl echo with overconfidence.]
"What brings a scrawny creature like you into my woods tonight?"
"Only hunger, and perhaps the chance to live another day,"
"You’ll find neither hope nor mercy here, little morsel. Run, if you dare. It amuses me to hunt."
The rabbit narrows his eyes, weighing each word, as a plan takes root—born not of malice, but the pure, cruel logic of survival.
"You boast of power, but pride makes you blind. Even kings can bleed,"
"Enough riddles. Come out, and I’ll make it quick,"
The rabbit darts into the open, feigning panic, luring the wolf directly towards the trap. The air crackles with tension as the wolf lunges—only to be ensnared, thorns biting into his limbs.
"You think this makes you strong? You’re still only prey,"
"Tonight, hunger writes the law. Forgive me, or curse me, but I cannot starve,"
The wolf thrashes, but the trap holds; desperation has outwitted brute force.
The rabbit kneads dough with trembling paws, stuffing it with rich wolf meat. The pie bakes in embers, its golden crust bubbling as hunger overrides revulsion. Shadows flicker across the rabbit’s face—triumphant, haunted, and forever changed.
"Survival asks a price, one no soul escapes. Tonight the hunter was hunted; tomorrow, who knows?"
He chews thoughtfully, eyes hollow but resolute, as the world turns indifferent to the cost of hunger and the fable’s dark lesson fades into morning mist.
