(Anyone? All the birds in camp should have seen him by now.)Storm stood at the top of the hill, peering down at the wild flock. Hens and cockerels milled about in the clearing, while a senior rooster, probably about his age, stood watch on a jutting rock. The splash-colored rooster looked oddly familiar.
Storm shook his head. No time for dreaming of lost brothers.
He strode down the slope, letting out a soft crow. Not threatening, but announcing his presence.