Page 24 of The Sapphire Dragon Prince
I turned back to my hen. “Right. Enough of this.”
I reached under the bird to feel around the nest and to take the egg I found there. But rather than hopping aside or letting me take the egg easily, the hen squawked and batted her wings at me as if she would go to battle for her egg.
“Easy there!” I warned her, taking the egg and depositing it quickly into my basket. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”
The hen continued to cluck indignantly. More than that, she jumped down from her roost and followed me as I moved on to collect more eggs, pecking at the back of my boots as I went.
Misha, who had gotten ahead of me, noticed and burst into laughter. “She’s a valiant hen,” he said. “But after what I’ve seen from my brothers over their eggs, I think I understand her protectiveness.”
“Chicken eggs aren’t dragon eggs,” I said, thrusting my hand under another chicken who refused to move for me. “And most chicken eggs aren’t viable as baby chickens.”
“Tell that to the hens,” Misha said.
He was right to say hens plural as well. The second chicken I took an egg from hopped down and joined her sister in following me and pecking at the hem of my trousers. So did another who I had to take an egg from.
Misha laughed at the small parade I was leading as we made it to the far end of the henhouse, but that laughter turned into a yelp when he needed to take an egg from under a hen and that hen pecked at his hand.
“Careful there,” he warned the hen as he added her egg to his basket. “I’m only clearing the way so you can make more.”
The hen clucked and squawked indignantly at him. Misha pulled back with a look of shock, as if the hen had said something to insult his papa.
“I beg your pardon,” Misha said, feigning offense.
As we stepped out of the far end of the henhouse and made our way across an open area into another one, I caught the sparkle of mirth in Misha’s eyes. That could have been because the hens we’d offended in the first house crowded around us, like they would have a word with us before we entered the second house.
“Are these ordinary chickens or are they magical chickens?” Misha asked, laughter in his voice, as we entered the second henhouse and started our collecting there.
“I think they’re just normal,” I said, smiling despite myself simply because Misha looked happy. “Although they are mighty determined.”
In fact, not only did the hens who we took eggs from have something to say about us, a few of them seemed to know that we were coming and what our mission was. They hopped down from their nests and charged at our feet or flapped their unimpressive wings like they would get us to go away.
It was amusing to see the old birds defend their nests so bravely. It was twice as funny when one of them took it into her mind to chase Misha around the henhouse after he plucked away her egg.
“Stop it!” Misha laughed, dodging around the other chickens and the central post that held up the henhouse roof. “I’m your friend, I swear. I’m only collecting eggs you don’t need.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at the dexterous moves my omega executed in order to avoid the indignant hens. He was surprisingly nimble at that and managed to avoid stepping on chickens and spilling eggs from his basket both.
In the course of my laughing, I happened to breathe in dust or chicken fluff or something. It made me sneeze suddenly, which shook my entire basket of eggs. It also caused me to step back onto a chicken, who let out a squawk of alarm. That only made me laugh harder and sneeze again.
Misha managed to avoid his chicken attacker, but as soon as he saw me sneezing and laughing and dodging irate chickens, he burst into even louder laughter himself and nearly doubled over.
Of course, that caused him to nearly spill his basket of eggs. He rushed to save them, but then laughed even harder for his efforts.
“We should return these full baskets for empty ones,” I said once we stepped out of the second henhouse, still giddy and giggling.
“Agreed,” Misha said. “And we need to concentrate more on looking for a purple feather.”
We switched out our baskets for empty ones and dove back into another henhouse. The story there was similar to what we’d been through so far. Most of the eggs were easy to collect, but the ones that were being guarded by hens were guarded fiercely. And there was nothing funnier than an offended hen. They clucked and fussed, flapped their wings and chased us, and by the time Misha and I made it out into the sunlight of the chicken yard again, we were both in stitches.
“Who would have thought that collecting eggs could be so fun?” Misha asked, laughing and brushing stray feathers from his sleeve.
“Fun?” I asked, pretending indignation. “I think we’ve taken our lives into our hands here.”
Misha giggled as he gazed up at me with so much fondness it took my breath away.
I couldn’t help but reach for him. I put my basket down and took his from his hand to set it beside mine, then moved closer to him.
“You have feathers in your hair,” I said, brushing away the stray, brown feather that sat on his head.
