[Primrose Bolger]

Nosed by one of the free ranging ponies, a few of the irate chickens had flown the coop. In a flurry of feathers they’d found their way to the great oak tree and now sought refuge among the branches. One of them, a particularly noisome little banty, shook his comb at Kiera, crowing loudly. Stretching his wings out and puffing his chest, he fixed her with his bright black eye and advance on her, claiming his new domain.

‘Best you not do that, little master,’ she cooed at him in a soothing voice. He stopped, distracted by her left hand as it wove in a rhythmic pattern in the air. His head bobbed at it, and he shook his feathers as if in warning. With a practiced scoop of her right arm, she grabbed him quickly by the legs. Holding him upside down earned her a few vicious pecks before her left hand caught him by the neck and held him gently. She cradled him under her arm and lulled him into quiescence with a sing-song pattern of nonsense sounds.

The hens, there were four of them, clustered close together on the branch a little ways off. They squawked at the melee taking place below and eyed the milling ponies and their pursuers with suspicion.

Quiet now, the rooster made little clucking noises, content for the moment. The hens gathered near him, listening to the soothing flow of assuring sounds. ‘You can stay until the night falls,’ she told the lot of them. ‘Then I’ll see you safely back to the henhouse and your little yard.’

One of the horses, feeling penned in by his pursuers, kicked out at that moment, catching one of the poles that held up the fencing to the hen yard. Kiera shook her head as a section of the fence collapsed. ‘This Inn is in need of a bit of good luck,’ she murmured to herself. The rooster, stretching his neck to see the source of the new noise, nodded his head as if in agreement.