chicken chicks a plenty

Aryn had a lot to think about after her meeting with Corbie (and then, her nightmare with Tor.) At first she had been hopeful that the woman's kind disposition and tenancy to teach and nourish might be simply a common occurrence outside Habari and Fireside, but then she'd met the monsterous pup who'd been so disrespectful and cruel, and had those hopes dashed just as swiftly. So Corbie was an outlier then. That made her even more valuable a friend, in Aryn's opinion. Her departure to go send away for the bee box had posed more questions then it had answered - she had a stable home, and others with her as well? Was there a pack out there, dedicated to the kind keeping of livestock, bees, and sweet little sheep? Not that it mattered much while Aryn was trapped, held as something adjacent to a slave in Habari.

It did give her something to strive toward however, and with the knowledge that keeping livestock did not have to be a cruel experience for the prey animal, she had decided to begin learning the trade. There was not much room in Habari for a herd of sheep, but perhaps if she could gather the materials she might need, she could begin to prepare and hopefully one day seek out these kindly farmers for a new home. That day was far, far in the future - Aryn knew she had no chance in hell of beating Recluse in a freedom match - but the dreaming made her time there bearable.

What she was out to accomplish was not something she enjoyed the idea of doing, she had to talk herself through the logic. No, she would not be hunting to kill today. No animal would die beneath her teeth, she would cause no pain.. at least not physical pain. The mother of the baby she would aim to capture would likely suffer at watching the child stolen away, but did that matter, when Aryn herself would raise it? Living with her in a pack, the baby chicks would be much safer and healthier then remaining in the wild where any nearby predator could end it's life. It was spring, the time for new babies, the mother would surely be able to have another clutch of them before the season was over... no harm done, right?

It still didn't feel right, but she moved out from the nook regardless, intent on rediscovering the field where she'd first stumbled upon the prairie chicken's clutch of eggs. She had returned to watch from a distance frequently while the eggs were guarded, knowing too little about the habits of the animal to risk stealing and hatching them herself. How much heat did they need? Could a wolf sit on a nest? Aryn had too many questions, and did not want to risk the death of six chickens for mere ease.

The chicks were hatched now, and Aryn found it easy to follow the trail from their hastily-discarded nest through the long grass deeper into the plains. They were working their way to the coast, for reasons Aryn could not determine. These were not waterfowl, what reason did they have to seek out the ocean? Her concern for them grew the further she followed the trail, the clouds above overlapping each other and blotting out the sun. The winds whipped up slowly, but Aryn could feel the change in the air and the torrential storm that would follow. Already the rain was beginning to fall, cascading into the ground in heavy rhythmic thuds and quickly concealing the small tracks she had been following. How the hell was she supposed to find them now? And would they survive the hurricane that was steadily approaching?

Aryn's pink eyes scrutinised the plains, the panic clear within them. Damnit, she should have just taken the eggs, they'd be back home in Habari and safe, unthreatened by nature's wrath. With the tracks covered, their scent dampened, and the grasses taller then Aryn was herself, it would be a difficult hunt to recover her prize. Where would a chicken go, if threatened by the storm? She was aware that they could burrow themselves in the winter, but somehow she thought the animal would avoid that when the ground was flooded with rain and mud. Higher ground? There wasn't much to speak of, only the cliffs that overlooked the beach, and she wasn't certain a chicken had the intelligence to even seek it out. The roar of the storm was becoming deafening, her pelt soaked to the bone with rain. It would have been more intelligent to go home, but that would leave the chickens and her chicks to the storm. Aryn was not equipped to abandon anything.

Moving forward, her ears strained against the rain for the smallest cheep or peeping that might signal where the mother had taken them. Her nostrils flared against the wetness for a hint of feather or god forbid blood, but nothing came. Eventually the storm became too much for even her, and Aryn was forced to seek shelter until the worst of it had gone. A pack had been here once, the Armada, an ally of Habari. Aryn did not know them well, and it looked like they'd cleaned out and collapsed their dens, but the ground was still soft in places along the beach. Perhaps it was luck, or even Eligos' strange God looking out for a stranded wolf, but she managed to come across a hastily filled burrow that could shelter her small form.

And there they were, the chicks she had searched for. Huddled in a wet clump with a parent screaming in anger at Aryn's sudden appearance. She was forced to put the creature down - it could not be reasoned with, could not be made to share the safe burrow where the storm could not reach. It was her life or it's life, and Aryn could not sacrifice herself for a chicken. She made the kill swift, already hating herself for the early life the chicks had suffered. Hatched in a hurricane, and witnessing their mother's violent death infront of their eyes. Aryn sighed, curling up against the entrance so the chicks could not flee, and waited out the storm until she could lead them to their new home.

Word Count: 1054