"Rum..."
"Rum."
"Rum, if you get your snout stuck I'm not helping you."
I didn't expect the hound to listen. I hadn't whistled. Something that he seemed to be good at conveying as order, ceasing his actions. But there he was, trying to stick his pudgy nose through the metal wire and sniff at the chickens. They didn't seem to care, or they knew that they were safe behind these bars. Their bars.
They needed feeding, and I needed to ignore the sting of sewing myself up a second time. It wasn't exactly your fault, but then less of that heavy liquor and you might have remembered where I was wounded.
Then again you know that well enough, don't you. My wounds.
I'm sorry, my harem of hens, I never remember your names. I remember yours, though. Henrietta, the newest of the group. You're a hostage, I didn't purchase you, taken from a family? Did the other livestock know you were taken? Did you hate them?
I'm trying to give you some feed but you'll have to forgive your jailmates, one of them likes to have their turn first. Yes, it's the fatter one, the one Rum seems to be eyeing with a puddle of drool at his paws. Gross.
Still, maybe I should return the favour. What do you get someone that has a warehouse full of nearly everything? Maybe I can steal a feather and turn it into a quil. No. Bad idea. Hold on.
"See, exactly what I said you would do, Rum. Come here, let's get that snout freed before you tip the whole coup over."
