Three Little Pigs

Previously

…He drifted off to sleep, dreaming of apples and the envious glances of his less-wise brothers. The wind outside whispered through the gaps in his stick walls, a gentle lullaby that, to Bartholomew, sounded like the sweet song of security. He was safe. He was comfortable. And he had a significantly better house than Percival. That, at least, was a certainty. A slightly drafty, but undeniably certain, certainty. He snuggled deeper into his twig bed, perfectly content in his ‘adequate’ abode.