Chickens of The Dawn

A Chicken's Sword

Throughout the night, Jenny practiced waving the glorious blade around and practicing on hay bales, jumping and balancing, trying to keep her brother out of her head. When the sun had set and the farmer had put them in, he had the axe in hand, and Jenny had hid for dear life. After giving up, the farmer had left, a great ugly scowl on his featured face. Personally, she didn't know why humans would have adapted to not have feathers. Their brutal, naked bodies were disgusting, with their supposed brains. Jenny would never believe in the human laws.
The following dawn, Jenny awoke to see two hens sitting directly under the box. Silvia and Lennox were both the same age as Jenny, with perky personalities. The two were sisters, born in the same clutch, but Lennox was an alarming shade of orange, while Silvia had black feathers with a green tint to them, only visible in the sunlight. Jenny immediately grabbed her sword, which hung beside her, where she had stabbed it into the board of the nesting box the previous night. She had laid an egg that morning, and for a last honor to humans, she cracked it with her dagger and spread the yolk around the hay, spitting on it when she was done. Bet that stupid man would have fun cleaning that up.
The young hen jumped from the box, opening her wings and flapping them clumsily. While in the wild, she wanted to work on flying too. If her turkey cousins could do it, then chickens could. She turned to face the two pulluts, taking on a very confident expression, although she was feeling anything but that. They both raised their heads in surprise, but got the their feet and saluted. Jenny returned the gesture and clucked with disappointment. "Is this all?" She looked around for any other who looked to come. "Oh, uh...well, Silvia doesn't really wanna come, but I do, so she is too. We can probably get Slate to come...maybe Allen. Actually, Slate and Allen might be for it. They missed your uh...what do you call it? A speech? Yeah, so they missed it."
Jenny felt her beak drop. These guys were idiots. Complete and utterly stupid. They were quite fitting to the chicken stereotype. Oh dear.
This may take longer than expected.
"Oi? Tryin' to leave without me?" Allen picked her way over, a sharp piece of stone strapped to her torso like a sling. "That's the spirit, Allen!" Jenny clapped her on the back, and she nodded crisply in reply. Allen, a black and white hen, was a sturdy old lady, and everyone admired her ability to not get killed, despite her old age. Then the stone grey hen, Slate, appeared from behind a hay bale. She also had a small, sharp stone, attached to her with the same hay twine that Allen had. She galloped over, flapping her wings to boost speed. Jenny felt a boost of pride for these brave souls, these hens who were willing to risk their lives for freedom. Those were the chickens she needed. Surprisingly, Bethany came over, looking as though she knew she wasn't fitted for this. Her foot bounced up and down with unease and she glanced around nervously. Slate, ever the kindest one, draped her wing over the young Rhode Island Red's shoulders. She talked softly to her and Bethany straitened, nodding with sudden determination.
Jenny waited another another several minutes, waiting for any others to come. Neon, Ann, Sheryl and Fleece ended up coming, leaving the group at a total count of ten, including herself. Not as much as she had hoped, but they had to go. The farmer was probably inside drinking his tea, getting ready to come out and feed his chickens. Only Slate, Allen and Jenny had weapons, so she clucked and crowed the gathered birds into a general formation. Jenny was the leader, so she stayed at the front. Slate and Allen were positioned on either side of the group, and Jenny purposely set Neon smack in the middle. She was one of the most fragile chickens, given her age, and Jenny loved her to bits. As the sun peeked over the horizon, Jenny and the others crowed and cawed a final farewell to their friends, who kindly replied with well wishing and good lucks.
The young grey bird stopped at the big red barn door that they had pried open. This was it. Hawthorn, Tabitha, Rooney, and even some of her older friends, were dead. She would not dig her own grave and wait here to die. Nope.
She strapped her dagger to her chest with a piece of twine and bolted, her hens close behind. They headed for the eastern edge of the pen, where the hole in the chicken wire was open as ever.
"Farewell..." She whispered as she slunk through the hole, running into the field. Each of the chickens were following with good pace, and Jenny yelled encouragement, "We need to make it to the opposite end of the field! That's it, then we're good to go! For freedom!"
"For freedom!" They echoed.
Soon, the only sound that was audible was the sound of chicken feet padding against the ground and panting with short, ragged breaths. Jenny had her head down as she focused on running, but suddenly there was lush, green grass under her feet and she came to an abrupt halt, Ann and Slate running into her.  She stumbled forward, marvelling at this glorious feeling.  Green grass.  Cool breeze.  Scent of bugs and other delicacies in the air.  The others joined in her amazement, bathing and the sunlight and eating every insect they saw.  Jenny felt over come with joy, but felt a deep sadness.  If only her family could have seen this.  The grey hen sighed, a tear of happiness and sadness mixed, running down her cheek.  Bethany rolled over on her side and ruffled her wings, sending a lifetime of dust up from her feathers.
They would rest here.  Here for now.