In one version of the story, the wolf wins.
First it eats the old grandmother and then it eats
the little girl too. No woodcutter arrives
to save the day. When night falls, the wolf slinks
into the wilderness, howling at the full moon.
At dawn, the wolf transforms into a naked white man,
who wakes up in a dark cave with a hangover
and no memory of what had happened.

That was the version I liked to tell my daughter.
Beware of naked white men. Especially those who drink
too much and forget themselves. But she was four,
and fearless. Stories were only stories. She bounced on
her bed and opened her big little mouth and howled,
laughing at the man who woke up naked
and didn't know why.