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Dust stings your nostrils as you land with a thump, disoriented, in the center of a sun-baked sandpit. Around you, the air vibrates with the guttural growls of anticipation. Fifty paces away, a shadowy wall of fur tenses, teeth bared in a hungry crescent. You are a pig, hurled into the Wolf Games - thirty seconds to live, or thirty seconds to defy the odds. Panic scrabbles at your trotters, but instinct takes over. Your snout scans the terrain - scattered rocks, sun-bleached bones, splintered wood, remnants of past champions. Time is a hungry wolf, gnawing at the edges of your seconds. A frantic snort scatters the sand as you charge, snout ramming at a skull, rolling it towards the hungry horde. A makeshift barricade, wobbly but desperate. More bones gather, timbers lean against each other, forming a ramshackle shield. Twentieseconds. Your heart thrums against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the rising chorus of growls. You weave through the debris, crafting a final barrier - a wall of hay, gleaned from forgotten nests, stuffed with twigs and stones. Ten seconds. The shadows shift, anticipation boiling over into snarls. You stand, hooves braced, the flimsy defense your only armor. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. The gates explode inward. A flurry of fur and fangs crashes against your hay wall. It bulges, groans, but holds. Teeth snap inches from your snout, claws scrape against bone. You shove, snort, your panicked squeals mingling with the hungry symphony of the wolves. Time blurs, seconds bleeding into minutes, each a desperate dance on the edge of oblivion. But the straw holds. The wall bends, but does not break. The tide of wolves surges, then recedes, their frustration echoing in the sandpit. You stand panting, mud streaking your snout, a survivor against all odds. The roar of the crowd drowns out the wolf yelps, erupting in a wave of cheers. You, the unlikely champion, the pig who defied the jaws of fate. How long will you survive? Who knows. But for now, you stand tall, a monument to tenacity, proving that even in the face of howling darkness, sometimes, the straw wall wins.
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