Sisterwives for the Orc by Amanda Milo

Author:Amanda Milo [Milo, Amanda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-10-05T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 12—Makes My Hand Itch

STEPHANIE

Collecting eggs turns out to be a proper gauntlet. Thankfully, I left Opkug safely in the care of Namakûga. I did this because I was afraid she might get pecked by a chicken during my nest box raid.

Not that I’ve yet to make it to the nest boxes.

I can’t. The bossy flock of guard geese are preventing me from entering the paddock. One might be forgiven for thinking that from a distance, they don’t seem like they’d be all that formidable.

Looks. Are. So. Deceiving.

Feathered velociraptors with flippers, that’s what geese are. To manage the frilly pack of saw-billed killers—

No, seriously, geese have serrated bills. Wicked ones. Did you know that? I didn’t know that. Thankfully, these game level boss-worthy beasts waste no time in opening their billed jaws and flashing top and bottom sets of skin-shredding mini teeth.

After this threatening show, here’s my plan to defeat them: I bravely risk raising my arm over the fence to sprinkle grain. The geese want my flesh more than food, but when I retract my limb from their pinching range, they move their bills down to the ground, grumble-clicking as they pick at their food.

I ignore the way it sounds like a flock of Edward Scissorhands are trying to pick up MnMs from the ground and race around to the other side of their enclosure, risk sticking my hand through the fence weave, and tip over their water tub, which is a poop and mud-filled mess. Namakûga had warned me that they manage this muddying feat in minutes and armed me with two jugs of water from the house for the purpose of changing out their drinking source to something (temporarily) fresher.

As soon as the first glugging splash of water is heard, the geese start flapping and honking and running for me, crazy to destroy the liquid the way they like best.

With their attention on the H2O, I move for the gate, pop it open, slide through, slam it shut—and sprint for the henhouse.

The geese honk louder at my daring and they start hissing, and the splashes and flapping tell me that they’re leaving their water in favor of chasing me.

I run faster. Dress slapping tight to my legs (yet thankfully stretching wide enough to accommodate an Olympic sprinter’s stride), I make it to the chicken house’s door and bolt inside (startling years off the fanged chickens’ lives, if you judge by their panicked clucking) like I’m Ellie Sattler sprinting for the generators in Jurassic Park. (The book version, not the movie. It was so adrenaline-fueled in the book.) I slam the door on the geese-raptors, barely missing their strong necks, leaving me shivering at the furious hisses that promise there will be hell to pay when I go back outside.

***

A half hour later, and I’m still in the henhouse, growing a lovely case of Bird Fancier's Lung with every inhale.

Bird Fancier's Lung: a subtype of hypersensitivity pneumonitis, care of sucking in allergens from bird dander and droppings whenever killer geese trap you in henhouses.

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