“Yes, Daddy Pa. I could have the hen?” He looked confused. “What?” “I will pay you back, Daddy Pa. But I could please have the hen? I so hungry.” “Well, waste not, want not, I suppose.” He picked the crushed cage up by one clean corner and held it out to her. Inside it, the hen was a mess of blood, bone, and feathers. “She would likely make good soup.” Yenderil agreed. But she had a feeling what she most wanted was to drink the still-hot blood out from the raw hen.
