The henyard stood along the western wall of the stables, a large fenced area with a hencoop that held fifteen chickens one rooster and 14 layers. Derufin showed Beren the key to unlatching the wire mesh gate
and wondered if the man had ever gathered eggs before.
The great bell of the Green Dragon tolled the signal for luncheon, and all folk within hearing obeyed the welcome call. The farmhand Hobbits stowed their tools and went home; the visitors to the Shire found their boarding houses and hosts; and the guests of the Green Dragon attended the hall as if pulled there on strings its table was renowned, thanks to Cook, and in the Shire, that was saying something.
Amidst all the coming and going of inn-folk and servants and Hobbits on luncheon break, no one noticed a figure who sidled up the western wall of the stable, well away from the law-abiding folk on the North-south road. She well, we suppose it was a she, although it was hard to tell from the thin body and bowl-shaped hair cut had one thought on her mind and that thought was food. And there it was. Someone had forgotten to mind the chickens so well, and a biddy was wandering about the henyard, mindless as a chicken.
Willofain crouched low, thankful that there seemed to be no one about. She would grab that bird by the neck, throttle it in one swift motion if her strength held, pluck it, clean it, cook it and eat it. Or just eat it.
Silent as a shadow and nearly as thin, the young Mortal reached for the young hen, and as she did so, a shadow fell across her path.
Character: Willofain the orphan, a Mortal girl of sixteen.
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