He shoved the trinkets into his pack with his dirty snout and clumsy hooves.
Farmer’s gold teeth.
The growling was closer. The hair on the back of his neck rose, yet he could taste the honey of hope. No more laboring at dawn with his annoying brothers. It was his turn for success.
He flung the front door open.
“Quick! Shelter here,” he shouted to his terrified brothers.
As he ran out the back door, bolting it hastily, he felt the force of the wolf’s rancid breath blowing the straw house apart behind him.