Page 23 of The Sapphire Dragon Prince
The chickens weren’t the only ones outside. As with the cherry orchard, a large number of workers were gathered around one of the outbuildings. Someone was handing baskets to them from the outbuilding’s doorway.
“Excuse me,” I asked, striding forward with Misha to join the group. “Hello.”
We were greeted with smiles and friendliness by the workers, and one particularly matronly woman stepped forward with her arms filled with empty baskets.
“Can I help you?” she asked us.
I glanced to Misha, who nodded at me, then answered her with, “We’ve been sent on a quest by my mother, Queen Gaia, to find a purple chicken feather.” I didn’t see any point in beating around the bush with this task.
The woman’s eyes went wide, and she bobbed a quick curtsy, sending the baskets she carried rattling. “My lord dragon,” she said reverently. “It is an honor to have you here at our farm.” Sheglanced up, her expression changing from deference to curiosity. “You say you’re looking for apurplechicken feather?”
“Yes,” Misha answered. “It’s one of three elements we need for a spell to make me…er, that Queen Gaia will perform. Do you have any purple chickens?”
The woman blinked at Misha. “To the best of my knowledge, chickens aren’t purple,” she said.
We all turned to look out into the yards that were filling with chickens as some of the workers scattered feed for them. Sure enough, as far as we could see, all of the chickens were either white or various shades of brown.
Misha’s shoulders dropped. “How are we supposed to find a purple chicken feather if there are no purple chickens?” he asked, mostly to himself.
“Perhaps one of them is a brownish purple?” I suggested, though I had the feeling that if my mother said a purple chicken feather, she meant really purple.
“The only way to find out is to look,” the woman said. She shuffled the baskets on her arms and took two off, handing one each to me and Misha. “And the best way to do that is to help with the morning’s egg harvest.”
I took my basket and stared at it, an amused grin spreading across my face. “You want me and my mate to collect eggs from the chickens?”
The woman looked apologetic. “Those are the rules here,” she said. “People are allowed to take all the eggs, or feathers, I suppose, that they need, but they need to help out in order to do so.”
“It seems only fair,” Misha said, glancing up at me. There was a spark in his eyes that said he was up for the challenge of collecting eggs. It had to be easier than planting a hundred cherry trees.
I turned to the woman with a grateful smile. “We’ll help in any way you need us to,” I said. “Just show us what we need to do.”
“Collecting eggs isn’t that difficult,” the woman said, turning to gesture to the long rows of henhouses. “Just go inside and take them from the nests. Some of the hens might not want to give them up, but a little encouragement and a quick shove should send them on their way so you can find what you need.” She turned back to the two of us. “And who knows? You might find a purple feather waiting for you in one of the nests.”
It seemed entirely likely. I smiled at Misha, back to thinking that this particular task would be easy.
“Let’s get started,” Misha said, hooking the basket on his arm.
The woman was right. Collecting chicken eggs wasn’t that difficult. Misha and I made our way into the first henhouse in the third row from the entrance to the farm and found rows and rows of nests three tiers high. There was nothing particularly challenging in taking eggs from those nests and gently placing them in the baskets we carried.
At least, when the nests had been abandoned.
When we came to nests where the hens were still happily sitting on their eggs the task took on a whole new challenge.
“Come along, ma’am,” I playfully told the first nesting hen I came across, sending Misha a teasing look as he took eggs from another nest. “I need what you’re hiding.”
Instead of getting up and moving, the hen clucked indignantly.
I huffed and sent her a stern look. “I know you’re possessive of your eggs, but I can assure you, unless you’ve been at it with one of the roosters, you won’t be parting with anything too precious.”
The hen clucked at me with even more offense, if that was possible.
Across the way, Misha giggled. “Are you arguing with a chicken?” he asked, a bright smile on his face.
That smile did something to my heart that went far beyond amusement. I loved seeing Misha looking so happy.
“If she would just see reason, we could get this task over with sooner rather than later,” I said, pretending to be serious.
Misha laughed and shook his head and went on collecting eggs.
