Once A Tale (MXM, BXB)

Three Little Pigs

Once upon a time there lived three little pigs—

You know the tale, don't you? By the hairs on their chinny-chin-chins and so on, these silly creatures built houses from straw and twigs, very easily blown over by a hungry wolf.

Resistant to the idea of being eaten (as you would be), they all crammed themselves into the third little pig's brick house and prepared to meet the wolf who, starving and desperate, had hunted them the whole way. When he climbed up to the roof searching for a way in, one of the little pigs had lit a fire under a pot.

When the wolf came tumbling down the chimney, he fell straight into the pot.

But, as it turned out, today he wouldn't be eaten by the three little pigs.

He leapt from the boiling water, howling all the while, and burst through their door, streaking into the forest...

Meriwether woke to a commotion in the forest.

A howling cacophony that offended the boar's ears and made him grumble into the bedding on which he slept. He tried covering his ears but it worked to keep the sound out about as well as it had keeping the sounds of pigs building houses (imagine! pigs in houses!) the last few days. It punched its way straight into his head.

Meriwether grumbled some more, grinding his face into the assorted furs and fabrics before rolling upright. His appearance today was that of a man, looking barely older than a boy. Many days he allowed himself to remain in his bestial boar form, lounging about as a predator few others would dare cross.

He had no reason for his shifts, not really, aside from whims and fancies.

Today's fancy was starting to morph into returning to his massive form and bowling through the trees to knock down the source of the commotion.

But, as it was, he needn't have worried—for the commotion came to him.

Barrelling through the trees, howling fit to burst, a wolf exploded into his clearing. Meriwether would've been more concerned about it if the wolf's body wasn't wet and steaming and if his howls didn't sound so miserable.

The wolf's whirling blue eyes focused on him as he stumbled on his paws, then leapt straight into the crystalline lake that Meriwether made his home by.

He scrunched up his nose at the smell of burnt skin and fur and stood up, approaching the lake warily. His hands plopped on his hips as he looked at the sorry mound of wolf trembling in the middle of the lake, keeping himself as submerged as possible, the water sloshing around him.

"Well, never had this happen before," Meriwether said dryly to the wolf. The shivering beast didn't seem to hear him, tongue hanging out as he panted for air. "You're a sorry state, aren't you?"

"Y-yo-you'd be too," the wolf managed, his teeth chattering, "i-if you'd been dro-dropped into a b-boiling pot!"

"That sounds unpleasant," Meriwether acknowledged and sat, cross-legged, on the edge of the lake. Looks like he'd be getting his drinking water elsewhere for today, he thought, not enjoying the thought of drinking liquefied burnt wolf.

"U... 'unpleasant'! Y-yy-you... you're m-mocking me...!"

He sounded furious but Meriwether, unbothered, shook his head.

"Wasn't me who put you in a pot," he said. "Stay in the water a bit, I'll be back."

The wolf glared after him as the boar trotted away, disappearing among the trees. Meriwether found himself with a drop of sympathy for the wolf, who obviously hadn't expected for things to happen as they did. Meriwether doubted he'd expect being dropped in a pot either.