Life of Becca the Hen 1

Becca slips behind the shed moments ahead of the searching footsteps. Dust clings to her feathers while the chopping block waits beside stacked firewood and garden tools.

The farmer's son, a broad-shouldered young man in a faded green work shirt and muddy boots, rounds the corner. His sunburned face is framed by unruly brown hair, and a split leather glove hangs from his belt.

He nudges a rake aside and scans beneath the lean-to. Firewood shifts as his boot brushes the lowest stack, bringing the search uncomfortably close.

A strip of daylight cuts beneath the shed wall. Beyond it, the yard lies open toward the kitchen, while the son reaches for a loose length of kindling.

Becca flattens her body and squeezes beneath the shed wall. Dust brushes her feathers, then she emerges into the open yard beside a patch of clover.

Behind her, the loose kindling scrapes across the ground as the farmer's son drops it and crouches at the gap. Sunlight catches his muddy boots.

The yard opens in three directions: the kitchen steps, the rain barrel, and a low fence bordering the vegetable garden. A breeze carries warm bread and dishwater.

He scrambles around the shed, but the narrow passage costs him time. His voice brings a chair scraping inside the kitchen, followed by someone calling for a basket.

Becca settles into the clover, drawing her wings close. Green leaves break up her outline, and the warm earth holds the faint scent of rain.

The farmer's son steps into the garden path and looks across the patch. His gaze passes over the motionless clover without finding her.

He circles toward the fence, boots pressing dark marks into the soil. The kitchen door opens behind him, and a basket clatters against the steps.

A breeze ripples the clover around Becca, but she remains perfectly still. The son's attention shifts toward the far rows, leaving the hiding place undisturbed.

Becca bursts from the clover and darts across the open soil. Her feet drum softly until one wing brushes the fence, snagging a feather and tugging painfully.

She reaches the low garden fence and slips against its shadow, crouched beside the lowest rail. A pale feather trembles loose in the damp grass.

The farmer's son pivots sharply. His boot crushes a row of young onions as he hurries toward the corner, eyes fixed on the fallen feather.

Beyond the rail, the vegetable rows stretch toward the far gate. Behind Becca, the clover and shed remain open, but the farmer's son now watches the fence closely.

Becca launches from the garden soil, wings beating hard as she vaults the low fence. Her toes catch the top rail, and she tumbles into the grassy strip beyond.

She lands awkwardly, scraping one leg against a buried stone. The sting slows her for a breath, but the fence is behind her and the garden lies open at her back.

Becca races along the fence line toward the far side of the property. Grass bends beneath her feet, and the kitchen voices fade behind the shed.

The farmer's son reaches the rail too late and grips it, staring after her. He does not climb over, blocked by the ditch and the muddy ground beyond.