Three wolves sat pawing a pile of burning leaves in the centre of a round clearing in the woods.

“I’m starving,” said Bert, the grey backed wolf from the North. “I ain’t had nothin’ good t’ eat fr weeks.”

“Me too,” hissed the southern brown wolf, Kessi, scratching at the ground with his sooty black paws. “I could eat seven kids.”

“Kids,” moaned Kaor, the black wolf from the West. “In their little cloaks.”

“No!” Kessi yelled. “The goat kids, human kids are too chewy.”

At once all three wolves poked their heads into the air.

“I smell pigs,” Bert sniffed. “Three of ’em. My God, they smell good!”

“I hear a goat. She’s leaving. She says to mind a wolf with black paws and a rough voice; well I know what to do,” he sniggered.

“I hear a little girl’s song,” cooed Kaor. “Wandering all alone in the woods!”

The three wolves exchanged a single glance, their eyes glinting, then turned their backs on the pile of leaves and skulked off into the forest, tongues hanging in identical hungerous lust.