Fallen

Chapter 2: Little Red Hen

LITTLE RED HEN

Rós roosted peacefully in a nest beside Grania. The inky twilight overhead was breaking. Rós opened her golden eyes and cocked her head to one side. She stretched her red wings and ground her beak, then turned and preened her friend. The white hen stirred. Rós clucked softly as if to say, Look, Grania. The Colors.

The sky swirled in a mix of blue and orange. The sun peeked over the rolling emerald horizon in fluorescent. It lit the clouds with hyper-saturated pinks and purples. The stars faded.

She paused from preening Grania and stepped from her nest, turning toward the longhouse her master and his wife lived in. Farmer was up. He exited his home. He was an older man clothed in gray wool and a wide-brimmed hat. He paused a moment to call back to Wife, “Something something Market. Something Dinner.”

Rós understood two of his words. Neither gave her a sense of comfort. Whenever Farmer spoke them, a friend went missing. Often it had been one of the pigs.

She clucked to Grania with concern.

Grania stood beside the red hen. Don’t be silly, Rós. Farmer would not harm us. We give him eggs.

Rós blinked at Farmer. The glow of colors that surrounded him shrank away and turned to shades of pink and dark purple. He scooped Grania up and stroked her. Grania pecked at his buttons. He sighed and frowned. “Sorry, Lass.”

Rós understood those words too. Wife sometimes said them when she accidentally stumbled over the hungry hens in the afternoon. Yet Farmer did not say them in the same way as she. There was a different tone about them. A slow bawk-bawk trickled from Rós. Grania….

The white hen looked at her. Her red waddle flopped from one side to the other as she cocked her head. Farmer carried Grania toward a gray shack that no animal ventured near to. Rós approached, hesitantly. She heard Grania struggle, then Chop!

A puff of white feathers snuck through a gap in the doorway.

She ran towards the shack, squabbling. Farmer emerged. His eyes locked on her. She stared back, her beak ajar. The shack glowed with a dark essence. Her heart raced. “Here, chick-chick,” Farmer beckoned.

Rós backed up.

He crouched and approached with his arms outstretched. “C’mon, Rós.”

A light breeze stirred the alder trees behind the small building. The leaves rustled in a blur of green. They shook against one another like the sound of rain. Rós bolted.

Farmer lunged forward, sweeping his arms across, but missed her. “Something, something, chicken,” he growled.

She zigged and zagged, squawking. Farmer grunted and chased. The other chickens in the yard scattered. Dog barked with excitement from his rope at the end of the longhouse.

Rós ducked under a gap in Cow’s fence. The old spotted beast lowed and stamped her feet. Rós narrowly missed one of Cow’s hooves. Farmer called after her. She darted around a post into the tilled rows of the rye field that the other hens used to teach their young to find food, and dashed into the center.

It was a blur of moving gold, and dark soil to her. She paused to listen to the rustle of the stalks. Dog continued barking in the distance. Rós picked her way over the mounds of dirt, listening for Farmer while pecking at the earth. She cocked her head to keep one eye close to the ground and the other searching for Farmer. Her heart rate slowed. Grania’s likeness entered her mind. Poor Grania. She ached for her. Grania…

The sound that slipped from her gave her away. Farmer caught her up before she could react. She squabbled and fought against him. He clutched her closer. She managed to get a wing free and flapped hard. Her claws scraped at him. Farmer wrestled her as he walked back toward the shack.

No! she thought. Not there. Not me.

She nipped Farmer’s sausage-like fingers, then turned and pecked his throat. He yelped and lost his grip. Rós flew forward in a tangle and hit the ground running. She baw-gawked raucously. Farmer shouted angry words and gave chase.

After several minutes, Wife emerged from the longhouse wiping her hands on her apron and bellowed at Farmer. He paused in the yard and stared at Wife with his wide forward-facing eyes that Rós had always found strange. Wife walked to her, and she blinked at Wife. She took a deep breath, relieved that Wife was intervening. Perhaps the woman brought food. Rós strutted toward her.

Wife scooped her up, stroked her until she calmed, then handed her to Farmer. The hen flapped at the betrayal. Farmer headed toward the shack.

No! Not like this.

She struggled again. The door creaked open. Grania’s headless body lay on a bench. Rós smelled blood. She writhed in Farmer’s arms and aimed for his eyes. She bit his lip and pecked the soft area beneath his white orbs. He yowled and dropped her. “Something chicken!”

She bolted, screeching. The world spun around her. Dog barked again. Rós headed for the trees behind the shack. They grew close together in some areas, making it hard for a man to weave between them. Her breast heaved. The shack groaned behind her in the breeze. The light above dappled the ground. She was momentarily fascinated by the way it moved and pecked at it. Shiny!

She wandered to the front. It had grown quiet inside. Rós blinked. She sensed the body heat of Farmer. The colors surrounding him grew crimson. He made the gray shack warm to dark violet. She dared to peek around the edge of the door. He glowered at her. His jaw set. He ground his teeth. “Something chicken.”

Rós clucked. She took another bold step forward. The morning sun beat down on her. Farmer’s eyes widened. His mouth opened. She stood daringly in a singular spot of light. The rays intensified around her. Clouds parted. Rós glowed golden.

Farmer moved very slowly. His colors changed. “Easy, Lass.”

Something had happened. All of the animals quieted. Rós understood the man’s intent was no longer to harm her. She cocked her head from side to side, clucked, and ruffled her feathers.

Farmer scooped her up gently. “Something gods. Something chosen.”

He carried her to a cart with several crates and placed her within one. “No death today, Rós. Something something see the king.”

A short while later, Farmer had his horse rigged to the cart and the other items loaded for market. But today Rós did not stay at market. She went somewhere else entirely.

She watched her home grow blurry behind them as the rickety cart rambled over the hillside and into a world she had never ventured.