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They had caught some alive.
Raven boggled. He was entirely un-used to chicken with its feathers still on. Or, for that matter, one that wasn’t in tasty chunks and bathed in sauce, presented on a bed of rice or with vegetables.
The first surprise, other than its volume was ear-splitting, was its size. There was less of it than a cat, but it had a cry of a beast two hundred times its size. The other, quieter ones made pseudo-beeping noises, like a safety monitor telling everyone that all was well.
“The one wif the fancy feathers on his butt is the feller,” said the smiling hunter. “The rest is girls. We’re gonna build a place for ‘em near Ma Johnston’s farm and use the eggs and breed 'em up and stuff.”
The loud male did his ear-splitting dinosaur howl. Old, childhood books said the rooster said 'cock-a-doodle-do". This thing was nothing close. This was the shriek of a beast with an agenda to gain the taste of human flesh.
He could see it -he- had daggers on his feet.
“Those are spurs,” said one of the proud hunters. “The males use them to fight off other males from their harem.”
“To the death?” said Raven optimistically.
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