In a flurry of feverish clucks and flapping wings, she vanished into the waist-high grass, forcing Eve and I to scramble after her.
Were there any onlookers, they’d find the chase hilarity gold.
Were I watching the spectacle myself, I’d be near tears with laughter.
As a participant, I’m much less amused.
In my attempts to catch the heinous hen, my feet caught on knotted grass, exposed and twisted roots, hidden stones. I swear to the gods they grew sentient andmovedinto my path. Gods, I even tripped overEve’s feet… I spent more time picking myself up off the ground than running. By now, I’m positive both my palms and knees bear bruises.
In addition to my pride.
“We can’t leave her,” I argue using a hushed whisper as I steal a quick glance at Eve.
She crouches behind me, her hands at the ready and her eyes fixed on the darkened tree hollow at the base of a toweringdarkwood. Button squirreled herself away inside it, and now we’re tasked with getting her out.
“I’m not saying leave her forever, Ves,” Eve retorts, exasperated. “I’m saying if she sees Darla, she might come running.”
I scoff a bitter laugh. “Are you going to bring Darla back over here? Risk having to re-capture her? Or are you going to finagle a horse lead into a chicken harness? Walk her across the courtyard in hopes Button will follow?”
With each question, her glare becomes more scrutinous.
“I think I’d pay to see that,” I muse with a grin.
“I’m gonnafinaglea horse lead around your neck and lead you back across the courtyard if you keep on,” Eve says and my stifled laughter becomes a snortle. “Oh, yeah, laugh about it. You think I’m joking.”
“This will work,” I counter as I lower myself onto my stomach. “You,” I stretch the word in a tease, “just have to be ready to catch her.”
There’s not quite enough room for me to reach in with both hands. Because that would make it too easy. And since I can’t trust my own feet today, Eve will catch the nefariously elusive hen. I simply have to scare her out of hiding.
Reaching, I find the hollow is deeper than I anticipated, forcing me to wiggle myself closer. With my face nearly pressed against the trunk of the tree, my fingertips graze the back of the hollow.
But no Button.
No brush against feathers.
I reach farther, turning my cheek against the tree. Overhead, dark, leafless branches hang, draped against the blue of the sky and the bright sun threatens to set my eyes to watering. A few, low warning warbles rumble, albeit muffled, from the dark of the hollow. Today will be the day I do indeed discover Button pecks—mark my words.
Swiveling my wrist, the back of my hand brushes against scaled legs—unleashing sheer chaos. Button’s loud, panicked clucks resonate through the tree. Cold clammy feet step on my wrist. Talons scratch up my arm through my sleeve. And finally, in an explosion of golden-blond feathers, the hen streaks past my face.
Shrieked Malbolge curses fly from my lips.
Eve, despite laughing uncontrollably, snatches the damn hen with ease.
“Look at that,” she laughs. “Your plan worked.”
Leveling a flat glare at her as I withdraw my arm from the tree, the smirk she gives me is a triumphant one. Sitting upright, I pull back my sleeve, revealing a series of moonlight scratches growing into wheals.
Nothing serious, no blood.
But still…
They loosely resemble Malbolge runes—the kind carved into flesh to cast blood magic. Truth be told, I wouldn’t be surprised if Buttondidknow the language of the hells.
Damned creature.
Turning, I catch Eve straightening herself. She tucks Button into the nook of her arm, careful to fold the hellish hen’s wings. Before today, I never would have thought it possible for chickens to have thoughts—seriousthoughts.
But, Button…
