The Hen Who Dreamed She Could Fly Read Online Free PDF Page B

great hen. I wanted to tell you that.”
    Sprout felt guilty. She was flustered, wondering what Straggler would think if he knew the truth. He would be shocked and appalled. Unable to look him in the eye, Sprout returned to her nest and settled over the egg. She couldn’t do anything about it now. She wasn’t going to tell anyone, not even her dear friend.
It’s my baby! I’m sitting on it, and I’m going to raise it. Surely that makes it my baby.
She changed the subject abruptly. “What happened to your right wing? And where’s the white duck?”
    Straggler raised his head. His gentle demeanor changed in a flash. “Don’t you dare mention it!”
    Sprout was taken aback. She didn’t know what she was forbidden to mention. Straggler’s neck feathers were bristling, the way they did when he spotted the weasel. He tensed and looked around quickly as though he had forgotten something important. Sprout hadn’t meant to make him angry. “I thought you left the barn with her,” she said gently. “I know the others don’t like you. Even though you lived there you were always a loner. Oh, I mean, what I mean is . . .”
    Straggler said nothing.
    Sprout tried again. “The white duck is your mate, right? I’m your friend, but I—”
    â€œI told you to stop it!” snapped Straggler, cutting Sprout off. He sprang up and stalked away, fuming, waddling even more than usual. Sprout didn’t understand why he was so angry. He soon returned, still fuming. He lowered his voice and said stiffly, “The moon’s grown slimmer. That means the egg will hatch soon.”
    â€œRight, it’s past time.”
    â€œSprout, you’re an intelligent hen, so you’ll know what to do. I just want to tell you a few things. When the egg hatches, leave this place. And go to the reservoir, not the yard, okay? Don’t forget that when the moon is waning, the weasel’s stomach is empty.” Straggler spoke as though he were going to leave. Was he angry at her? And he was telling her so many things at once. Things she didn’t quite understand.
    â€œWhat do you mean the weasel’s stomach is empty?” Sprout asked.
    â€œIt should be okay. But I’m telling you just in case. Don’t go to the yard, go to the reservoir.”
    â€œWhy?”
    Straggler didn’t respond. He paced, glancing around, then climbed the hill and looked far off into the distance. Sprout was tense, uneasy at the mention of the weasel. After coming across the wild briar patch, she had put the weasel out of her mind. She hadn’t seen his glinting eyes once while sitting on the egg. If the weasel had found her, she would have been in grave danger, and her baby would have been harmed. It was an awful thought.
    Night fell. Sprout couldn’t shake the thought of the weasel. Her heart sank each time the night breeze blew through the grass or the moonlit leaves rustled. Straggler was right outside the briar patch with his head tucked under his wing. That made her feel ill at ease. She would be less frightened if he performed his odd little dance.
    A thought suddenly occurred to her. Did Straggler create a fuss at night because of the weasel? To scare him away? Sprout was now completely alert, frightened to the bone. Why would he protect her, going to such lengths for just a friend?
I’m not even a fellow duck. . . .
She looked up at the sky. The stars were hazy and the moon was faint, a sign of rain. Suddenly she thought of the Hole of Death.
    It had rained that day, too.
    Unable to push away her fear, Sprout stood up. She was going to face the weasel bravely. She planned to raise her claws and peck him mercilessly while flapping her wings. She would holler and put up a fight. She peered into the darkness. The weasel might already be there on the other side of the darkness, that hunter with his slitted eyes glaring in this