Bonnie scratched at the soft soil for a moment, wondering at the sensation in her claws. Ever since she'd hatched, the only feeling underclaw was hard, sharp metal.
Nothing could have prepared Bonnie for this. Inside, it had been cramped, smelly, and painful. Out here, a cool breeze toyed with her feathers, her nostrils filled with the smell of flowers and trees, not ammonia. Sun light streamed down on to her comb and face. Bonnie stretched out her wings and flapped them. Something in her clicked, and she immediately started scratching through the soil. This..... This was what a chicken was meant to do.