Late afternoon stretches warm and slow over DeBuke Farmhold.
Out near the edge where the fields meet a rough line of trees, Briar wanders along the fence, dragging a stick against the rails with an easy clack-clack.
“Almost summer,” she mutters to herself, kicking at a clump of dirt. “No more lessons. Just chores. Way better.”
She pauses, nose wrinkling slightly. Sniff. Sniff, sniff.
“…huh.”
Briar crouches and plucks a feather from the grass, turning it in her fingers. Not the usual farm fluff. Sleek. Clean. Gray. The kind that catches a bit of light along the edge.
Her eyes narrow thoughtfully.
“This ain’t chicken.”
The stick gets tossed aside. Briar starts moving along the edge, slower now, scanning the ground and low branches.
“Alright,” she mutters. “Where you at…”
A few quiet steps, brushing through grass and shadow. "Coo, coo, where arreeeeee yooouuuu...."