The sun hung high, baking the chicken coop under its relentless glare. Inside, the strongest bird pecked at the remnants of its last meal while smaller chickens shuffled nervously, their heads bobbing as they awaited their turn. The air was thick with tension, an unspoken understanding passing through the flock: the sun wasn’t their enemy today. As the mountains began to cast long shadows over the village, wild cats and weasels stirred, their hunger calling them out of hiding. Yet even these natural predators weren’t the cause of the chickens’ growing unease.
A sound broke through the stillness—light, deliberate footsteps approaching from the distance. The chickens froze, their heads darting toward the direction of the noise. They knew these steps. Fear rippled through the coop as the gate creaked open, revealing the familiar silhouette of the woman who fed them daily. Today, her hands weren’t carrying feed. Instead, they were empty, purposeful.
Panic erupted. Feathers flew and dust clouded the cramped space as the flock scrambled in every direction. The stronger birds trampled over the weaker ones in their frenzy to escape. But the woman was undeterred. Her eyes locked onto her target: the largest, fattest bird, cornered and shivering. With a swift motion, she grabbed it, her grip unyielding as the chicken’s cries pierced the air.
In moments, the coop fell silent. The bird’s lifeless body dangled from her hand, its struggle now over. Darkness soon enveloped it as the bird’s halved remains were submerged in a steel pot of boiling water and herbs. The lid slammed shut, muffling the hiss of the boiling broth. In the courtyard house, the aroma began to rise, celebrating a feast—for the humans, not for the fowls.