When the Nightingale Sings

Part 3

You slept fine through the night, out cold after crying so much during the day. The finality of death hitting you hard. Danny had moved a few times in the night in his hammock, watching your body to make sure you were still breathing. One of his old tunics had become a nightdress for you, and he watched the fabric rise and fall before settling back and closing his eyes.

"Could I help?" your voice was soft, catching Danny off guard as he fastened the buttons on his coat. You were sat up, the blanket delicately held to your chest. He hadn't expected you to awaken while he got ready, and he tried to be even quieter than the days before.

"Did I wake you?" he asked, concerned. a soft shake of your head was your only answer. "You'd like to come with me and check my traps?"

"I'd like to do something here, if I could." you answered. "There are chickens outside, perhaps I could feed them for you? I haven't found a broom otherwise I would sweep." Danny stared at you, slightly dumbfounded that someone of noble birth was willing, asking, to do menial labor. "I could mend some clothes, if you needed. My mother made sure I was excellent at embroidery."

"What is with the sudden urge to help?" Danny asked, surprise still lacing his voice.

"Sitting and staring at the fire all day isn't exactly thrilling." you gave him a half-smile. "I believe that's actually how people go mad." you laughed softly, something Danny hadn't heard before. He felt something in his chest stir at the sound, and swallowed roughly, nodding.

"Get dressed and meet me outside, I'll show you how to feed the chickens." Danny nodded and turned, undoing the lock and stepping outside just as you began getting up from the bed. When you met him a few moments later, you were wiping your palms excitedly on your dress, walking over to Danny. He had never seen someone so excited to toss dried barley at poultry before.

"What do we do first?" your question had Danny smile, as he reached for the empty bucket at his feet.

"First, we get the feed." he nodded to a small building, a few feet away from the cottage. It was separated from the main house by a small wildflower field. "Chickens mostly eat barley, so we'll take some of that and bring it to them." He handed you the bucket and began walking towards the field. You hurried to keep up, Danny's long legs carrying him faster than your shorter ones could you.

The lock on this door was sturdier, and Danny used a key to get in. As the door swung open, the smell of dry straw and hay met your nostrils. It felt warm as you stepped inside, taking the bucket from Danny's hand.

"The barley is just there," he pointed to a large barrel towards the corner. "You'll want to fill the bucket about halfway, get a good scoop." nodding, you lifted the lid off the barrel and plunged the bucket in, lifting it back up. You shook out the excess, getting to halfway before replacing the lid. Danny shuffled in behind you, hammering his fist down in a solid swipe to make sure the lid was secure from moisture. You waited for him outside the store house and let him lead you to the other side of the cottage. A small pen was keeping the chickens and roosters from wandering free into the forest. There was a rustic coop in the back, where the animals could hide from the harsh winters among the hay.

"Do I place the bucket in there?" you asked, glancing up at Danny. He had to hold back from laughing, reminding himself that you had never done the work before, you had probably never been allowed to get near a chicken coop in your entire life.

"No, you take a handful of it," Danny reached into the bucket, bringing up a fistful of barley. "and toss it around." he tossed out his hand, opening it and letting the dried grains fly and scatter. The chickens were startled at first, but quickly scurried over to where the grain fell, pecking at the ground.