Did someone forget to ask @ColtHandorf to be one of the judges?
Ended BYC Writing Prompts! A Short Story Contest
- Thread starter Blue Raptor
- Start date
I'm three words over on a second entry, and if I have to cut something else I may scream.
Hah! 1000 words. Lord have mercy; this may kill me.
Second Entry:
Set in a fictional world of a D&D original campaign. This was the beginning of Raidynne's backstory, which stands alone and is not integral to the full piece.
Genre: Fantasy
Title: The Tale of Raidynne Lightfoot
The storm broke upon the elven city with incredible and unexpected force. The usually calm lake had been transformed from the mirror-like glass into a wild beast, heaving itself against the shoreline. Thunder cracked and roared overhead as brilliant flashes of light punctuated the darkness, blinding before plunging the world into darkness again. The wind forced the ancient forest into a cruel mockery of the lake. Rain streamed down from the Heavens, beating against the spires of elven towers that glittered in the lightning. Water dripped from the leaves of the trees to the ground below, filling the silence between the thunder that shook and pressed the air close. Small streams became muddy, clogged with leaf litter from the forest floor, and the larger rivers overflowed their banks.
An elven woman in shining robes sat in the light of a fire. Candlelight danced in the darkness. Her flaxen hair was braided back like a crown, holding it back over her shoulders as she bent her head to read from an ancient tome bound in leather. A deafening burst of thunder, so quickly followed by a flash of lightning it might have been simultaneously, caused her to close the book on the table. Her keen ears heard the crying of her son from his room. She rose elegantly, her hair catching the light like a wheat field, shining like burnished gold in the evening sun.
“Merindeh,” she floated into the room, raising her hand to summon light from the wall sconces in his bedroom. “Are you afraid of the storm?’
The young elfling lifted his head from his pillow where it had been buried. Tears filled his cerulean eyes, and he nodded.
Another crack of thunder drowned out the howling of the wind, and Atarah dropped her calm composure as her son yelped. She joined her son on the bed and tucked him gently back in.
“It’s a weird storm,” he said as he curled up small and precious in bed.
“Yes,” she agreed, peering out the window at the rain. “I haven’t been this frightened by a storm in a long time,” she thought.
“What is it?” he asked, looking into her face.
“I don’t know….” She looked down. “Perhaps it’s Raidynne,” she smiled.
“Who’s Raidynne?”
“Well, how about you lie down, and I’ll tell you a story until you fall asleep. How does that sound?” she asked, smoothing the blankets.
He nodded and got comfortable.
“Very well. Close your eyes.” She waited as he settled himself. “Raidynne is a prince among the centaurs. The people have spoken of him for years now. Can you hear him, the thunder of his hooves?”
He shook his head.
“Keep your eyes closed. Listen carefully; you’ll hear him. Don’t listen to the sound of the wind, but what you hear on the wind.” She smoothed his hair back and delicately caressed his face.
“T’was on a night, very like this, not so long ago, deep in the Silverspine Mountains. It was one of the wildest spring nights there has ever been. No pixies or faeries stirred; no goblins or gnomes left their holes. Only a few dryads and nymphs, their last shelter destroyed, were braving the fury of the storm. And Edlynne, a queen among the centaurs, both beautiful and wise, was preparing to give birth to a foal. There was something exciting and mysterious on the wind. Something important was about to happen.
Raidynne, she named him, for Raidynne means god of thunder. She named him for the wild storm in which he was born. He was a creamy, much lighter than his mother. And as he grew to be a young and handsome prince, his hair and tail would glisten silver in the moonlight. Edlynne knew that he would be a mighty prince indeed.
A coat like his was rare among centaurs, but the Silverspine tribe had long ago been blessed, and their golden coats reflected it.
Numinor and Atalanta led a herd in the Silverspines. The pair came upon a unicorn wounded in the high forest and cared for him. In his convalescence, the unicorn gave his name, Bellenmore. When he had recovered, the mighty stallion bade the pair stand before him under the full moon’s light in a clearing high in the forest. Aglow, with moonlight on his spiraled horn and starlight in his coat, pure as snow upon the mountain, a ray of divine light washed over the two centaurs. He imbued them with his magic, and in a way only the gods can explain, the Lightfoot Centaurs’ lineage was mingled with the blood and magic of the Ancient Celestials.
This blessing varies among the members of the Lightfoot Line. Their eyes of amber and gold show their divine heritage. Some could wield Light magic with no training, and legend says that some centaurs have been born with feathered wings that match the color of their tail.”
Atarah smiled down at her son. His breathing was steady, and the storm seemed to have lost some of its earlier ferocity. The thunder came less frequently and softer. She stood gently not to disturb him and walked to the window, looked out into the storm and continued to speak, her voice soft as she dimmed the lights in the room.
“By morning, the storm had blown itself out, and in the calm light of dawn, Edlynne emerged from her shelter to coax her son into the vastness of his new world. Raidynne would not be able to hide in the grey-green of the forest like the other centaurs. He would have to rely on his speed and cunning and all the knowledge and wisdom his mother and their tribe could pass on to him.”
The elf turned back from the window as she heard the sound of her son’s deep breathing. “Asleep at last,” she thought. She left only the faintest glow in the room, and not even the rustling of her silken robes betrayed her return to her book.
Second Entry:
Set in a fictional world of a D&D original campaign. This was the beginning of Raidynne's backstory, which stands alone and is not integral to the full piece.
Genre: Fantasy
Title: The Tale of Raidynne Lightfoot
The storm broke upon the elven city with incredible and unexpected force. The usually calm lake had been transformed from the mirror-like glass into a wild beast, heaving itself against the shoreline. Thunder cracked and roared overhead as brilliant flashes of light punctuated the darkness, blinding before plunging the world into darkness again. The wind forced the ancient forest into a cruel mockery of the lake. Rain streamed down from the Heavens, beating against the spires of elven towers that glittered in the lightning. Water dripped from the leaves of the trees to the ground below, filling the silence between the thunder that shook and pressed the air close. Small streams became muddy, clogged with leaf litter from the forest floor, and the larger rivers overflowed their banks.
An elven woman in shining robes sat in the light of a fire. Candlelight danced in the darkness. Her flaxen hair was braided back like a crown, holding it back over her shoulders as she bent her head to read from an ancient tome bound in leather. A deafening burst of thunder, so quickly followed by a flash of lightning it might have been simultaneously, caused her to close the book on the table. Her keen ears heard the crying of her son from his room. She rose elegantly, her hair catching the light like a wheat field, shining like burnished gold in the evening sun.
“Merindeh,” she floated into the room, raising her hand to summon light from the wall sconces in his bedroom. “Are you afraid of the storm?’
The young elfling lifted his head from his pillow where it had been buried. Tears filled his cerulean eyes, and he nodded.
Another crack of thunder drowned out the howling of the wind, and Atarah dropped her calm composure as her son yelped. She joined her son on the bed and tucked him gently back in.
“It’s a weird storm,” he said as he curled up small and precious in bed.
“Yes,” she agreed, peering out the window at the rain. “I haven’t been this frightened by a storm in a long time,” she thought.
“What is it?” he asked, looking into her face.
“I don’t know….” She looked down. “Perhaps it’s Raidynne,” she smiled.
“Who’s Raidynne?”
“Well, how about you lie down, and I’ll tell you a story until you fall asleep. How does that sound?” she asked, smoothing the blankets.
He nodded and got comfortable.
“Very well. Close your eyes.” She waited as he settled himself. “Raidynne is a prince among the centaurs. The people have spoken of him for years now. Can you hear him, the thunder of his hooves?”
He shook his head.
“Keep your eyes closed. Listen carefully; you’ll hear him. Don’t listen to the sound of the wind, but what you hear on the wind.” She smoothed his hair back and delicately caressed his face.
“T’was on a night, very like this, not so long ago, deep in the Silverspine Mountains. It was one of the wildest spring nights there has ever been. No pixies or faeries stirred; no goblins or gnomes left their holes. Only a few dryads and nymphs, their last shelter destroyed, were braving the fury of the storm. And Edlynne, a queen among the centaurs, both beautiful and wise, was preparing to give birth to a foal. There was something exciting and mysterious on the wind. Something important was about to happen.
Raidynne, she named him, for Raidynne means god of thunder. She named him for the wild storm in which he was born. He was a creamy, much lighter than his mother. And as he grew to be a young and handsome prince, his hair and tail would glisten silver in the moonlight. Edlynne knew that he would be a mighty prince indeed.
A coat like his was rare among centaurs, but the Silverspine tribe had long ago been blessed, and their golden coats reflected it.
Numinor and Atalanta led a herd in the Silverspines. The pair came upon a unicorn wounded in the high forest and cared for him. In his convalescence, the unicorn gave his name, Bellenmore. When he had recovered, the mighty stallion bade the pair stand before him under the full moon’s light in a clearing high in the forest. Aglow, with moonlight on his spiraled horn and starlight in his coat, pure as snow upon the mountain, a ray of divine light washed over the two centaurs. He imbued them with his magic, and in a way only the gods can explain, the Lightfoot Centaurs’ lineage was mingled with the blood and magic of the Ancient Celestials.
This blessing varies among the members of the Lightfoot Line. Their eyes of amber and gold show their divine heritage. Some could wield Light magic with no training, and legend says that some centaurs have been born with feathered wings that match the color of their tail.”
Atarah smiled down at her son. His breathing was steady, and the storm seemed to have lost some of its earlier ferocity. The thunder came less frequently and softer. She stood gently not to disturb him and walked to the window, looked out into the storm and continued to speak, her voice soft as she dimmed the lights in the room.
“By morning, the storm had blown itself out, and in the calm light of dawn, Edlynne emerged from her shelter to coax her son into the vastness of his new world. Raidynne would not be able to hide in the grey-green of the forest like the other centaurs. He would have to rely on his speed and cunning and all the knowledge and wisdom his mother and their tribe could pass on to him.”
The elf turned back from the window as she heard the sound of her son’s deep breathing. “Asleep at last,” she thought. She left only the faintest glow in the room, and not even the rustling of her silken robes betrayed her return to her book.
Third Entry
**Disclaimer: I do not own the Dragonriders of Pern or any part of the universe or characters created by Anne McCaffrey or her son Todd McCaffrey. They allow fans to write in their world. This short story does not expressly follow the "rules" established in the canon world. For those familiar with the world, this takes place after Avias and the Masterharper Robinton have turned off/died during the final pass of the Red Star that brings Thread to Pern.
Genre: Sci-Fiction/Fan-Fiction
Title: Impression at Benden Weyr
The pale light of Pern’s two moons, Belior and Timor, cast a ghostly glow over the double crater of the long-extinct volcano. In the pre-dawn darkness, the watchrider moved to warm himself up before leaning against his dragon, a large shadow beside the Star Stone on the Weyr’s rim.
He observed the activity around Benden Weyr. The Lower Caverns buzzed with industry like a beehive on old Terra as they finalized preparations for the Hatching Day. He grinned when he saw Manora, the Headwoman, brandishing a ladle at some youngsters.
Riders were mounting dragons and taking off from their weyr ledges, rising into the air before disappearing between to collect guests invited for the Hatching. Fire lizards, the dragons’ tiny cousins, swirled in fairs, warbling and chittering in excitement.
Haydyn jerked awake in an unfamiliar bed. The young man sat up, wondering what had woken him. He’d realized he could hear the dragons in his mind the moment he was Searched. A rare talent, he’d only ever heard of female riders, Weyrwomen, with the gift. The dragons were excited. It must be the eggs, he thought.
With a bang, the door burst open, and R’gul, the Weyrlingmaster, shouted at them to wake up as he unshielded glowbaskets. “For some of you, this will be your last morning as Candidates and the start of your life as a dragonrider. Get dressed in your white robes. Remember what you’ve learned. There’s no reason to be afraid. Keep your wits, and you and the dragonets will be safe.”
Haydyn remembered the lessons. The dragonets hatch hungry and seek out their life partner for Impression. The newly hatched dragons could be dangerous in their clumsiness. It was essential to avoid injury and to make the Impression quickly once the dragon had chosen their rider to minimize stress.
“Wear thick socks unless you want to mince about like a Lord Holder on the hot sands,” he said with a wink and was gone, probably off to wake the female Candidates hoping for a green or blue hatchling or one of the two queen eggs.
Dragons wheeled above the Weyr; bronze, brown, blue, and green, landing in orderly chaos, riders and weyrfolk aiding passengers down and toward the Hatching Grounds. Lord and Lady Holders and all the others hurried as quickly as dignity would allow them, dressed in their best.
Lessa, the Weyrwoman of Benden and Pern’s savior for her fabled ride back in time, stood near Ramoth, Benden’s senior queen, the largest dragon on Pern. She glowed golden and immense, brooding over her clutch of eggs. Two of the eggs, larger and dully gold, were rolled to the side of the mottled, smaller eggs, and it was over these two she watched. Her head weaved back and forth above them, eyes whirling at a terrific pace as she watched the approaching Candidates.
The volume in the immense cavern was intense. The dragons were humming, the air vibrating with sound, as they encouraged the young dragons in their shells. The fire lizards settled wherever they could. Wings outstretched, their higher voices wove around the deeper voices of their cousins.
The Candidates were in a loose semi-circle around the eggs, the girls specially chosen for the two young queens off to one side under Ramoth’s watchful gaze. The eggs were rocking; the hatchlings struggled to be free. The crowd gasped as an egg split. Then multiple eggs were cracking. A tiny bronze dragon was shaking himself free from his shell. He fell to the sand, tripping, and a young lad from Ista was righting him, and Impression was made. The Weyrleaders smiled at one another, and the crowd heaved a contented sigh. A bronze hatching first was good luck, and so was a fast Impression.
All around him, wet and awkward dragonets cried out, searching for their chosen rider. The sound of the crowd and the dragons was nearly too much to bear.
Noise from the crowd drew Haydyn’s gaze, and he saw the two queen eggs splitting. He could hear the indignant squawks of the occupants. And in a moment, both little golds were standing amidst shell fragments. One of the young queens flared her wings and arched her neck with a dramatic snort surveying the girls. The spectators grinned. The other turned to look up at her mother and lost her balance.
Girls rushed forward to help her before she hurt herself. Ramoth barked a warning, and Lessa held up her hand, glaring in her direction. Ramoth retreated and allowed the girls to assist her. The cries of the little queen changed to happy chirps as Impression was made with a young woman from Keroon.
Males didn’t Impress gold; he turned to the eggs nearest him and saw a green wavering between two boys. Haydyn moved towards her, but she pushed past them all; joyful croons marked her Impression with a young girl.
Haydyn couldn’t be bothered to look around when the crowd gasped, and the fevered pitch of the dragons’ humming rose. He heard shouting behind him, but another green was moving toward him, and he didn’t look away. He was leaning down toward her to get her attention when he was bowled over.
“I’ve been trying to get your attention forever! I am very hungry.”
Spitting sand, he rolled over and saw the young queen looking down at him.
“I didn’t hurt you, did I? I’m starving.”
Haydyn struggled to his feet as F’lar and Lessa reached him.
“Can you hear her?” the Weyrleader asked while Lessa nodded. She could hear all dragons and listened to the exchange.
The young man nodded, “She can’t possibly want me.” The little queen butted him imperiously from behind.
“The dragon chooses the rider, lad. Accept her.” Her cries became desperate. “Make the Impression,” he urged.
Haydyn turned and looked into the queen’s multi-faceted eyes, swirling rainbows. He looked up with tears streaming down his face at Ramoth’s stunning triple-note bugle. “She says her name is Valaranth.”
**Disclaimer: I do not own the Dragonriders of Pern or any part of the universe or characters created by Anne McCaffrey or her son Todd McCaffrey. They allow fans to write in their world. This short story does not expressly follow the "rules" established in the canon world. For those familiar with the world, this takes place after Avias and the Masterharper Robinton have turned off/died during the final pass of the Red Star that brings Thread to Pern.
Genre: Sci-Fiction/Fan-Fiction
Title: Impression at Benden Weyr
The pale light of Pern’s two moons, Belior and Timor, cast a ghostly glow over the double crater of the long-extinct volcano. In the pre-dawn darkness, the watchrider moved to warm himself up before leaning against his dragon, a large shadow beside the Star Stone on the Weyr’s rim.
He observed the activity around Benden Weyr. The Lower Caverns buzzed with industry like a beehive on old Terra as they finalized preparations for the Hatching Day. He grinned when he saw Manora, the Headwoman, brandishing a ladle at some youngsters.
Riders were mounting dragons and taking off from their weyr ledges, rising into the air before disappearing between to collect guests invited for the Hatching. Fire lizards, the dragons’ tiny cousins, swirled in fairs, warbling and chittering in excitement.
Haydyn jerked awake in an unfamiliar bed. The young man sat up, wondering what had woken him. He’d realized he could hear the dragons in his mind the moment he was Searched. A rare talent, he’d only ever heard of female riders, Weyrwomen, with the gift. The dragons were excited. It must be the eggs, he thought.
With a bang, the door burst open, and R’gul, the Weyrlingmaster, shouted at them to wake up as he unshielded glowbaskets. “For some of you, this will be your last morning as Candidates and the start of your life as a dragonrider. Get dressed in your white robes. Remember what you’ve learned. There’s no reason to be afraid. Keep your wits, and you and the dragonets will be safe.”
Haydyn remembered the lessons. The dragonets hatch hungry and seek out their life partner for Impression. The newly hatched dragons could be dangerous in their clumsiness. It was essential to avoid injury and to make the Impression quickly once the dragon had chosen their rider to minimize stress.
“Wear thick socks unless you want to mince about like a Lord Holder on the hot sands,” he said with a wink and was gone, probably off to wake the female Candidates hoping for a green or blue hatchling or one of the two queen eggs.
Dragons wheeled above the Weyr; bronze, brown, blue, and green, landing in orderly chaos, riders and weyrfolk aiding passengers down and toward the Hatching Grounds. Lord and Lady Holders and all the others hurried as quickly as dignity would allow them, dressed in their best.
Lessa, the Weyrwoman of Benden and Pern’s savior for her fabled ride back in time, stood near Ramoth, Benden’s senior queen, the largest dragon on Pern. She glowed golden and immense, brooding over her clutch of eggs. Two of the eggs, larger and dully gold, were rolled to the side of the mottled, smaller eggs, and it was over these two she watched. Her head weaved back and forth above them, eyes whirling at a terrific pace as she watched the approaching Candidates.
The volume in the immense cavern was intense. The dragons were humming, the air vibrating with sound, as they encouraged the young dragons in their shells. The fire lizards settled wherever they could. Wings outstretched, their higher voices wove around the deeper voices of their cousins.
The Candidates were in a loose semi-circle around the eggs, the girls specially chosen for the two young queens off to one side under Ramoth’s watchful gaze. The eggs were rocking; the hatchlings struggled to be free. The crowd gasped as an egg split. Then multiple eggs were cracking. A tiny bronze dragon was shaking himself free from his shell. He fell to the sand, tripping, and a young lad from Ista was righting him, and Impression was made. The Weyrleaders smiled at one another, and the crowd heaved a contented sigh. A bronze hatching first was good luck, and so was a fast Impression.
All around him, wet and awkward dragonets cried out, searching for their chosen rider. The sound of the crowd and the dragons was nearly too much to bear.
Noise from the crowd drew Haydyn’s gaze, and he saw the two queen eggs splitting. He could hear the indignant squawks of the occupants. And in a moment, both little golds were standing amidst shell fragments. One of the young queens flared her wings and arched her neck with a dramatic snort surveying the girls. The spectators grinned. The other turned to look up at her mother and lost her balance.
Girls rushed forward to help her before she hurt herself. Ramoth barked a warning, and Lessa held up her hand, glaring in her direction. Ramoth retreated and allowed the girls to assist her. The cries of the little queen changed to happy chirps as Impression was made with a young woman from Keroon.
Males didn’t Impress gold; he turned to the eggs nearest him and saw a green wavering between two boys. Haydyn moved towards her, but she pushed past them all; joyful croons marked her Impression with a young girl.
Haydyn couldn’t be bothered to look around when the crowd gasped, and the fevered pitch of the dragons’ humming rose. He heard shouting behind him, but another green was moving toward him, and he didn’t look away. He was leaning down toward her to get her attention when he was bowled over.
“I’ve been trying to get your attention forever! I am very hungry.”
Spitting sand, he rolled over and saw the young queen looking down at him.
“I didn’t hurt you, did I? I’m starving.”
Haydyn struggled to his feet as F’lar and Lessa reached him.
“Can you hear her?” the Weyrleader asked while Lessa nodded. She could hear all dragons and listened to the exchange.
The young man nodded, “She can’t possibly want me.” The little queen butted him imperiously from behind.
“The dragon chooses the rider, lad. Accept her.” Her cries became desperate. “Make the Impression,” he urged.
Haydyn turned and looked into the queen’s multi-faceted eyes, swirling rainbows. He looked up with tears streaming down his face at Ramoth’s stunning triple-note bugle. “She says her name is Valaranth.”
I'll play.
Prompt. Living with chickens.
Fat Bird's Revelations.
There was an expectant silence when I said goodnight to Tribe 1 and closed the door for the night.
Mora was perched closest to the rear door, next was Ruffles, then Fat Bird and finally Able.
Once Ruffles was satisfied I was out of earshot, she shuffled a bit closer to Mora, hopefully out of striking distance of Fat Birds beak and unable to contain her curiosity any longer, asks Fat Bird,
"How was your night with Bucket Boy then?"
Mora craned her neck out as far as she could without toppling off the perch in order to see Fat Bird past Ruffles and said,
"Come on Fat Bird, tell us what happened? Able said you fell in the pond and nearly drowned."
Able, who was busy picking mites off his bad leg hoped on to the roof of the nesting box below the perch and fearing a bit of a scrap might be in the offing, jumped up between Fat Bird and Ruffles. After some foot shuffling, squawks of indignation and a few pecks, order was restored, and Fat Bird who was now standing, said in a tone that forbade any dissent,
"I didn't fall in!"
Able quickly pointed out he was only relaying the information he had received from Jenny the Muscovy Duck, who had told him when he went to escort Fat Bird home at bedtime she saw Bucket Boy's sister lift Fat Bird out of the pond and carry her away.
'The Pond' is a large concrete clothes washing basin with a sloping corrugated side on which the wet clothes were scrubbed long before washing machines were invented. All the chickens know the water is deep and the slope slippery. No chicken has ever 'fallen' into this basin in the past and Fat Bird is a very experienced hen.
Chickens don't swim and avoid deep water. Their feathers are not water-proof and when their feathers are soaked, they can't fly, their body temperature drops and their body weight increases, making running much more difficult and flight impossible.
"What did happen then Fat Bird?" Mora asked.
Fat Bird, looking slightly shifty, took an intense interest in rearranging her wing feathers and muttered,
"I can't say."
Realizing that opportunity to increase her status in telling the others the story of that night might be slipping away, Fat Bird gave one final sweeping brush of her wing with her beak and settled down on the perch, while casually mentioning that Bucket Boy takes his feather off when he goes to sleep.
Ruffles and Mora's neck shot forward and their eyes widened, their attention riveted on Fat Bird.
Fat Bird mentioned in a deliberately offhand manner that while she was recovering on Bucket Boys soft rocking chair, eating the last of the tuna she had been given off the blanket that had been carefully arranged around her, she saw Bucket Boy go to bed.
Ruffles beak dropped open and her eyes went all wistful and misty,
"I love tuna" she sighed and slipped into a reverie where she attempted to recount all her favorite foods in no particular order.
"Shut up Ruffles" Fat Bird snaps, "the point is he takes his feathers off at night."
"Not sure I could fancy a man with no feathers" Ruffles murmured, still deep in her food reverie.
Fat Bird, eager to get to her most astonishing revelation, set about telling the whole story of that night.
The others sat silent and listened, eyes wide, slightly in awe of Fat Birds experience, and slightly in awe of Fat Bird, who had after all cheated certain death and spent the night with Bucket Boy. Fat Bird arrived at the point where she's eating the Tuna, gave Ruffles a threatening glance to forestall any further lapses in Ruffles concentration and continued her tale.
"It must have been late; easily badger time when Bucket Boy finished fussing over me and got me settled for the night. He turned out the lights except one, went to the toilet, and then into the room where his perch is. He took off all his feathers, dropped them on the floor and got on to his perch."
Fat Bird paused and even in the gloom of the coop you could see that the memory of what happened next still haunted her.
"I couldn't believe what happened next. I was close to panicking. How was I going to get out? Did anyone else known where I was? There was no more tuna, no water, I just sat there paralyzed."
Able, Ruffles and More were now on the very edge of their perches with anticipation, necks craned, eyes practically popping out of their heads and in chorus shouted,
"What happened Fat Bird?"
Fat Bird took one more pause, shuddered and said,
"He said goodnight Fat Bird," rolled onto his back and went to sleep.
Pandemonium broke out. Mora who had leaned out the furthest in order to see Fat Bird as she told her tale, slipped of her perch with a brief squawk, and crashed to the floor in an undignified pile of flying feathers and dust. Ruffles, recoiled in horror, shuffled away from Fat Bird barging Able off the perch and on to the roof of the nesting box below banging his beak on the perch during the fall as he stumbled to maintain his balance. Mora, on regaining some composure and realizing what she was about to say was bound to bring an irate Fat Bird down from above her, dived into the nesting box, and warily craning her head out, neck bent so she could see Fat Bird above said,
"I don't believe you Fat Bird; everybody knows only dead things lie on their back."
Prompt. Living with chickens.
Fat Bird's Revelations.
There was an expectant silence when I said goodnight to Tribe 1 and closed the door for the night.
Mora was perched closest to the rear door, next was Ruffles, then Fat Bird and finally Able.
Once Ruffles was satisfied I was out of earshot, she shuffled a bit closer to Mora, hopefully out of striking distance of Fat Birds beak and unable to contain her curiosity any longer, asks Fat Bird,
"How was your night with Bucket Boy then?"
Mora craned her neck out as far as she could without toppling off the perch in order to see Fat Bird past Ruffles and said,
"Come on Fat Bird, tell us what happened? Able said you fell in the pond and nearly drowned."
Able, who was busy picking mites off his bad leg hoped on to the roof of the nesting box below the perch and fearing a bit of a scrap might be in the offing, jumped up between Fat Bird and Ruffles. After some foot shuffling, squawks of indignation and a few pecks, order was restored, and Fat Bird who was now standing, said in a tone that forbade any dissent,
"I didn't fall in!"
Able quickly pointed out he was only relaying the information he had received from Jenny the Muscovy Duck, who had told him when he went to escort Fat Bird home at bedtime she saw Bucket Boy's sister lift Fat Bird out of the pond and carry her away.
'The Pond' is a large concrete clothes washing basin with a sloping corrugated side on which the wet clothes were scrubbed long before washing machines were invented. All the chickens know the water is deep and the slope slippery. No chicken has ever 'fallen' into this basin in the past and Fat Bird is a very experienced hen.
Chickens don't swim and avoid deep water. Their feathers are not water-proof and when their feathers are soaked, they can't fly, their body temperature drops and their body weight increases, making running much more difficult and flight impossible.
"What did happen then Fat Bird?" Mora asked.
Fat Bird, looking slightly shifty, took an intense interest in rearranging her wing feathers and muttered,
"I can't say."
Realizing that opportunity to increase her status in telling the others the story of that night might be slipping away, Fat Bird gave one final sweeping brush of her wing with her beak and settled down on the perch, while casually mentioning that Bucket Boy takes his feather off when he goes to sleep.
Ruffles and Mora's neck shot forward and their eyes widened, their attention riveted on Fat Bird.
Fat Bird mentioned in a deliberately offhand manner that while she was recovering on Bucket Boys soft rocking chair, eating the last of the tuna she had been given off the blanket that had been carefully arranged around her, she saw Bucket Boy go to bed.
Ruffles beak dropped open and her eyes went all wistful and misty,
"I love tuna" she sighed and slipped into a reverie where she attempted to recount all her favorite foods in no particular order.
"Shut up Ruffles" Fat Bird snaps, "the point is he takes his feathers off at night."
"Not sure I could fancy a man with no feathers" Ruffles murmured, still deep in her food reverie.
Fat Bird, eager to get to her most astonishing revelation, set about telling the whole story of that night.
The others sat silent and listened, eyes wide, slightly in awe of Fat Birds experience, and slightly in awe of Fat Bird, who had after all cheated certain death and spent the night with Bucket Boy. Fat Bird arrived at the point where she's eating the Tuna, gave Ruffles a threatening glance to forestall any further lapses in Ruffles concentration and continued her tale.
"It must have been late; easily badger time when Bucket Boy finished fussing over me and got me settled for the night. He turned out the lights except one, went to the toilet, and then into the room where his perch is. He took off all his feathers, dropped them on the floor and got on to his perch."
Fat Bird paused and even in the gloom of the coop you could see that the memory of what happened next still haunted her.
"I couldn't believe what happened next. I was close to panicking. How was I going to get out? Did anyone else known where I was? There was no more tuna, no water, I just sat there paralyzed."
Able, Ruffles and More were now on the very edge of their perches with anticipation, necks craned, eyes practically popping out of their heads and in chorus shouted,
"What happened Fat Bird?"
Fat Bird took one more pause, shuddered and said,
"He said goodnight Fat Bird," rolled onto his back and went to sleep.
Pandemonium broke out. Mora who had leaned out the furthest in order to see Fat Bird as she told her tale, slipped of her perch with a brief squawk, and crashed to the floor in an undignified pile of flying feathers and dust. Ruffles, recoiled in horror, shuffled away from Fat Bird barging Able off the perch and on to the roof of the nesting box below banging his beak on the perch during the fall as he stumbled to maintain his balance. Mora, on regaining some composure and realizing what she was about to say was bound to bring an irate Fat Bird down from above her, dived into the nesting box, and warily craning her head out, neck bent so she could see Fat Bird above said,
"I don't believe you Fat Bird; everybody knows only dead things lie on their back."
Last edited:
- Thread starter
- #36
What was your prompt?I'll play.
Fat Bird's Revelations.
There was an expectant silence when I said goodnight to Tribe 1 and closed the door for the night.
Mora was perched closest to the rear door, next was Ruffles, then Fat Bird and finally Able.
Once Ruffles was satisfied I was out of earshot, she shuffled a bit closer to Mora, hopefully out of striking distance of Fat Birds beak and unable to contain her curiosity any longer, asks Fat Bird,
"How was your night with Bucket Boy then?"
Mora craned her neck out as far as she could without toppling off the perch in order to see Fat Bird past Ruffles and said,
"Come on Fat Bird, tell us what happened? Able said you fell in the pond and nearly drowned."
Able, who was busy picking mites off his bad leg hoped on to the roof of the nesting box below the perch and fearing a bit of a scrap might be in the offing, jumped up between Fat Bird and Ruffles. After some foot shuffling, squawks of indignation and a few pecks, order was restored, and Fat Bird who was now standing, said in a tone that forbade any dissent,
"I didn't fall in!"
Able quickly pointed out he was only relaying the information he had received from Jenny the Muscovy Duck, who had told him when he went to escort Fat Bird home at bedtime she saw Bucket Boy's sister lift Fat Bird out of the pond and carry her away.
'The Pond' is a large concrete clothes washing basin with a sloping corrugated side on which the wet clothes were scrubbed long before washing machines were invented. All the chickens know the water is deep and the slope slippery. No chicken has ever 'fallen' into this basin in the past and Fat Bird is a very experienced hen.
Chickens don't swim and avoid deep water. Their feathers are not water-proof and when their feathers are soaked, they can't fly, their body temperature drops and their body weight increases, making running much more difficult and flight impossible.
"What did happen then Fat Bird?" Mora asked.
Fat Bird, looking slightly shifty, took an intense interest in rearranging her wing feathers and muttered,
"I can't say."
Realizing that opportunity to increase her status in telling the others the story of that night might be slipping away, Fat Bird gave one final sweeping brush of her wing with her beak and settled down on the perch, while casually mentioning that Bucket Boy takes his feather off when he goes to sleep.
Ruffles and Mora's neck shot forward and their eyes widened, their attention riveted on Fat Bird.
Fat Bird mentioned in a deliberately offhand manner that while she was recovering on Bucket Boys soft rocking chair, eating the last of the tuna she had been given off the blanket that had been carefully arranged around her, she saw Bucket Boy go to bed.
Ruffles beak dropped open and her eyes went all wistful and misty,
"I love tuna" she sighed and slipped into a reverie where she attempted to recount all her favorite foods in no particular order.
"Shut up Ruffles" Fat Bird snaps, "the point is he takes his feathers off at night."
"Not sure I could fancy a man with no feathers" Ruffles murmured, still deep in her food reverie.
Fat Bird, eager to get to her most astonishing revelation, set about telling the whole story of that night.
The others sat silent and listened, eyes wide, slightly in awe of Fat Birds experience, and slightly in awe of Fat Bird, who had after all cheated certain death and spent the night with Bucket Boy. Fat Bird arrived at the point where she's eating the Tuna, gave Ruffles a threatening glance to forestall any further lapses in Ruffles concentration and continued her tale.
"It must have been late; easily badger time when Bucket Boy finished fussing over me and got me settled for the night. He turned out the lights except one, went to the toilet, and then into the room where his perch is. He took off all his feathers, droped them on the floor and got on to his perch."
Fat Bird paused and even in the gloom of the coop you could see that the memory of what happened next still haunted her.
"I couldn't believe what happened next. I was close to panicking. How was I going to get out? Did anyone else known where I was? There was no more tuna, no water, I just sat there paralyzed."
Able, Ruffles and More were now on the very edge of their perches with anticipation, necks craned, eyes practically popping out of their heads and in chorus shouted,
"What happened Fat Bird?"
Fat Bird took one more pause, shuddered and said,
He said "goodnight Fat Bird," rolled onto his back and went to sleep.
Pandemonium broke out. Mora who had leaned out the furthest in order to see Fat Bird as she told her tale, slipped of her perch with a brief squawk, and crashed to the floor in an undignified pile of flying feathers and dust. Ruffles, recoiled in horror, shuffled away from Fat Bird barging Able off the perch and on to the roof of the nesting box below banging his beak on the perch during the fall as he stumbled to maintain his balance. Mora, on regaining some composure and realizing what she was about to say was bound to bring an irate Fat Bird down from above her, dived into the nesting box, and warily craning her head out, neck bent so she could see Fat Bird above said,
"I don't believe you Fat Bird; everybody knows only dead things lie on their back."
Chickens.What was your prompt?
- Thread starter
- #38
Okay!
Aren't chicken stories allowed?
Similar threads
New posts New threads Active threads
-
Latest threads
-
-
Long Time Chicken Raiser, First Time Poster- Started by GlammaDee
- Replies: 2
-
Wyandotte swollen abdomen, Ascites or Perontitis? Pics included.- Started by HerdAndHome
- Replies: 0
-
Moon’s first time incubating eggs, and also Hatch-Along!- Started by MoonMoon
- Replies: 1
-
Looking for coops!!- Started by ilovemychickens2
- Replies: 0
-
-
Threads with more replies in the last 15 days
-
-
-
24 hour old chick with legs and feet issue.- Started by Beckys Birds
- Replies: 111
-
-
Need advice for the best vines and plants for in a chicken run!- Started by ChickenShepherd_6116
- Replies: 98
-
