Diary By Jin

I sank back against the rough, gnarled trunk of an old tree, the ground soft and pine-needled beneath me. At my feet lay the missing chicken I'd tracked down deep in the woods, its legs bound gently but firmly with twine so it couldn't slip away again. I'd pulled my little book from my pocket and was sketching the bird-every ruffled feather, every odd marking-so that even if it did manage to escape, I'd have its likeness fixed in my mind, ready for the day I found it once more.

Just as the final lines of the drawing took shape, a sound drifted through the quiet: the heavy oak doors of the mansion creaking open in the distance. I looked up to see my mother step out, her figure framed against the dim glow of the hall. She spotted me at once and began walking over, her steps slow and steady across the grass. When she reached me, she sank down to her knees, her face softening into a warm, knowing smile. She glanced first at the bound chicken, then back to my eyes, and spoke gently.

"Seems like you found it."